


Not With A Bang

by MemoriesoftheAlhambra



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action & Romance, Altered Mental States, Altered States, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asian Character(s), Being Lost, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Car Accidents, Crying, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Don't read the tags there's spoilers, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emergency room, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Exhaustion, F/M, Falling In Love, Fire, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Gunshot Wounds, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Inspired by K-Drama | Korean Drama, Kidnapped, Kidnapping, Korean Characters, Love, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Men Crying, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mystery, Mystery Character(s), Nightmares, Novel, On the Run, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Oxygen mask, Pain, Painkillers, Panic Attacks, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rain, Running Away, Sherlock wannabe, Sleep Deprivation, Stitches, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Support, Survivor Guilt, Suspense, What Have I Done, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, collapsed building, drugged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27212248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoriesoftheAlhambra/pseuds/MemoriesoftheAlhambra
Summary: Jin Segi, President, has it all, but when everything is taken away and his forgotten past confronts him with a bang, he has only one option: to run. While fleeing a catastrophe, he meets the love of his life and drags her along his path toward redemption.ORSinews of consciousness reached into his haze-filled mind. Sounds burst through the surface like bubbles breaking through the black to a smoke-caressed sky. Brown eyes catching broken sunlight opened to the wails of sirens and roar of flames. He couldn’t move. His head listed to the side—coughs coming out as failed attempts to breathe. Faded, faraway yells ruptured his torpid thoughts—he tried to turn to see...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Not Today

**Author's Note:**

> **PROLOGUE** :
> 
> The brink of consciousness beamed through the captive’s eyelids like a flashlight piercing the dead of night. Unmemorable thoughts strung through his mind, cutting off circulation like the tightness of the rough rope around his wrists and ankles. At first, so stifling—he creaked his eyes open to the putrid smell of rotten dust and marred metal. He moved to curl into himself, the soles of his shoes scratching against the cement beneath, croaking cacophonously throughout the large industrial space. His mind was ringing from the shock of being found here, of all places, and not in his bed where he had last left himself. 
> 
> Waking up here felt like an alternate reality, but the cold hard truth was rearing its ugly head to stare him in the face right between the eyes. He wanted to scream, “HELP!” but the pounding in his ears suddenly filled his face with a rush of heat, choking him—wobbling lips. He almost couldn’t breathe as the realization that it was he who had been kidnapped hit him. It was him—he was the one that could die in this situation. 
> 
> Yanking at the confines, he felt his skin already rubbed raw—as though even in an unconscious state he had tried to unsuccessfully break free. Frayed splinters of rope so painfully small dug into his flesh, making his head writhe from agony. Inside, he was screaming, outside, he was sitting on a busted kitchen chair, displaced like a fallen figurine...about to shatter. 
> 
> ~ ~ ~
> 
> Chased without being on the move, a hood was drawn up to hide the figure’s salon-cut, raven hair—Stealer x Stinger aviators blocking the recognition from his eyes. Pointed boots, now scuffed, hit the pedestrian pavement impatiently—without looking rushed. As he came to an electronics store window, a voice turned his head. 
> 
> “...his name is Jin Segi. He is dangerous. If you see him, do not approach and call 119.”
> 
> A hasty reporter’s voice came through the muffled glass. Segi slowed to a stop, gaping as streams of Seoulites flowed past him. This was the moment reality beautifully scorned him. A piece of paper blew over his shoe, obscuring the faded shine in the leather for just a moment to reveal the same face looking back at him on the rumpled, slightly soggy handout, familiar, and yet unfamiliar all the same. WANTED , it read, mocking him because it was him. What, no reward? Pfft. It was disappointing, but as Segi’s sardonic mind twilled on, his reptilian brain requested flight and only flight . He stood there, poised as if to take off, but also masochistically intrigued to watch everything he had built in his tragic life come crashing down around him.

It was after a tragically sleepless night that Segi received a text, the faint buzz of the device nearly being drowned out by the same vibrations his electric toothbrush was producing in his mouth—funny. But it wasn’t too odd considering he was a very busy man, being the Founder & President of FantaStorY, now one of the largest mass media entertainment companies in the country. As one of the top ten richest bachelors, he was getting interview requests up the wahzoo and this was probably just more of the same. He picked it up, finding...no notification. He checked his other phone...no notification. And, finally, he checked his business phone only to discover a rather uninformative text, different from the usual. It was simply a time and an address to an unknown location, which he couldn’t search while he brushed his teeth. Spam? There was no offsite meeting that he knew of, (but when did he ever have his schedule memorized?). Closing the text, the news he’d opened earlier, and various assortments of emails, he continued spacing out in front of the mirror with toothpaste dribbling down his chin because it was more productive than trying to be a person today. 

* * *

“You have a meeting in the morning with staff on the ALYSMO script adaptation in the boardroom. And then, in the afternoon— Are you listening?”

Segi abruptly turned from the car window to look at Jo in the driver’s seat, who had been stealing sideways glances at his boss who seemed, again, off in his own little world. What _would_ he dream up next? Any other secretary would be asking themselves how someone like him climbed to the top while why-me-ing all over the place, but, then again, the sheer uniqueness of this individual pretty much spoke for itself. A scornful and yet loving smirk slid onto his chapstick-applied lips. 

“No.” A pause. “Are there any meetings offsite? I got this weird text.”

“Oh, a text?” Because that was more important. Jo pulled to a stop at a red light and looked back at the half-asleep President, biting his lip to stop from transitioning into what Segi defined as ‘mother-hen-mode’ where he’d nag him about sleeping better. He had gone OUT OF HIS WAY to get prescription sleeping pills for the insomniac, but they had never been used up—to his knowledge anyway. In fact, Segi even seemed to have an aversion to them, despite how helpful they were for many others, like himself, who were plagued by recurring nightmares and insomnia. Today seemed to be one of those days where it was catching up to him because said man was talking nonsense. Got a text. Hah! As if he’d get an unsolicited text about an offsite meeting when Jo was the one who always set everything up. Come on, bro (his own thoughts were blasphemous. However, since he knew what strings to pull with Segi, he decided to play along, since that always worked in his favor.

“Did you respond to it?”

“No!” Segi gave him a horrified look. “But I wonder how they got my number…” Jo eased his foot onto the accelerator as the light turned green. 

“It’s on your business card.” 

“...Right.” Finger point.

“There wouldn’t be any offsite meetings that I’m aware of. Did you set something up without me?” Jo made a pouty face, which always pulled through for him. Segi immediately scrunched up his nose in mock-disgust and looked away. Ugh. Bastard. 

“Why would I set up a meeting when I pay someone to do that for me?” Dark eyes settled viciously back onto his feeble secretary who immediately folded under the pressure.

“Fine then. I don’t know what that is. Delete it.” 

“Fine.”

They drove the rest of the way to the office in non-caffeinated silence. 

It was a huge, 12-story skyscraper, specifically designed to architecturally innovate the entertainment industry with movie theater-themed flooring, tintable windows, and a line of velvet carpeting leading up to the elevators. Everyone who came to work felt like they were walking the Hollywood red carpet and their padded salaries also reflected that. Because of the great working environment, wonderful benefits, and FSY’s entrepreneurial vision statement, of the 1,143 employees on payroll, most were smitten with Segi as their President. And those who met him in person? ... _also_ loved Segi. Despite only crushing about two hours of sleep a day, the man was a heartthrob, caring, and a charismatic conglomerate of brain, brawns, and beauty. Jo preferred him. A little. Even when he was a dick.

“Where am I going?” Segi was magnetizing towards the elevators by default, eying the buttons that weren’t being pushed, looking a little rushed. Employees dipped their heads in respect as he walked by.

“Fourth floor.” Jo took a breath. “Did you read the manuscript?” 

“Why do you think I look like this?” Segi pointed at his face, scowling and frumping his eyebrows to make himself look worse.

Unphased, “I don’t know, you look the same as yesterd—”

“Because I was up all night reading it.” 

“Ah…” 

The elevator doors opened and the two of them stepped out, heading down the hall to the meeting room where the projector was already neatly calibrated and ready to get started. As soon as Segi walked in, those present went to stand up, but he motioned silently for them not to mind his presence. It was stressful having people stand up every time they saw you, and he was very aware that his aversion towards it was both welcoming and alarming to them at the same time. They were probably thinking: ‘shouldn’t our boss be lapping up these perks?’ Anyone would want their chance at privilege—though, as it turned out, as far as Segi could remember of his childhood, he hadn’t come from a wealthy background, so it wasn’t as though he was accustomed to this type of treatment nor would he ever get used to it. 

He had come off the streets—his earliest memory being his arrival at a police station at around twelve-years-old—real age, birthday, and family lost. He couldn’t remember why he had gone there or where he had come from—uninjured and no memory except of the shrill shh of falling rain. It was as though each raindrop that fell was another missed moment from his past running out of him and into the gutters. Dirty water. He could remember the stickiness of his uneven bangs glued to his face—couldn’t tell the hot tears from the cold raindrops dripping from his nose. The hush of the muted world around him sounded like whispered screaming—the feeling of weightlessness guiding him there like a spector, unafraid, but still questioning why he was crying. Knowing somehow there was a reason that wouldn’t define itself—every time he came close it would leak out of his mind just like the rain. That day, when he found himself for the first time, he wasn’t even afraid—just...empty. 

Segi shook himself out of his recollection to try and focus his sleep-deprived brain on the meeting happening around him; Jo was staring daggers at him—a look more of concern than of anger. It was also so _smothering_. When the discussion finally circled back around to him to give the final say, Segi moved to the podium and spoke eloquently about his thoughts and ideas pertaining to how the script should be adjusted to fit current trends and the changing social dilemma. FSY had to be lightyear steps ahead if they wanted to compete with Disney for market. 

His phone blipped next to him and a few eyes flitted to its location and then back to the projected screen. Segi glanced downward so the selfie camera could see his face and show him the preview text. His eyes devoured what was there. He must have been making some kind of expression though because Jo was now looking at him funny. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking himself, but he was sure Jo knew somehow. He always knew. 

After the meeting, they were walking out and Segi slowed his already slow pace.

“I think you forgot a meeting again.”

“You’re crazy.” 

“No, look. Same thing was sent again to my business phone.” Segi tapped his two other phones in each suit jacket pocket with a crooked mafia grin and handed the phone off to Jo who side-glanced at it. “That guy you were arranging a meeting with—” Too vague. “...the guy that was suing over product copyright. We shouldn’t blow him off—what if we’d scheduled this and forgot?” Was it a reminder text?

“Let me see.” Jo grabbed the phone and stared at the number. He recognized it for some reason, but couldn’t place it. “Hm, it could be that asshole, Han Seo-Yun. What do you want to do?”

“Call Jiho. See if he can meet me there.”

“Could be a scam.” 

“The address is for the FSY mall though. At the warehouse.” Probably wanted his own lawyer to see their products so he could then sue them better. Segi grimaced at the thought. He could refuse.

“Err then maybe not…”

“You just don’t want to admit you forgot. I should deduct Jiho’s legal fee from your pay.” 

Jo paled. “You aren’t that cruel.”

“But I am.”

“You make children’s movies.” 

“Not all stories have a happy-ever-after.” 

“ALL OF THEM DO.” 

“I’m going to go there now. Stay here? Cover for me in the next meeting.” 

Jo gave him a you-can’t-even-tie-your-own-shoes look (it was true). Segi retorted back with a silence-yourself-I’m-your-boss look and stared down his nose at him until Jo turned away with an exaggerated (yet defeated) sigh, throwing the car keys...at his head. Segi caught them with military-grade reflexes and swung them around his finger as a final taunt with an oh-so-smooth turn of the heel. 

He wasn’t sure what he was getting into with this, but he was sure he and Jiho could hold their own without Jo. He had heard all the gossip, but Segi wanted to see for himself the level of harassment this guy had in him and what he would say to his face with his lawyer present. It was bound to be some fun times. Segi enjoyed handling almost all issues by showing up, glaring it in the face, and then swatting it away like a gnat that accidentally flew into a lion’s mouth. 

* * *

2020 BMW M8 convertible, top up. Black. Silky exterior with high-grade wax—shined up every wednesday. Red leather seats and that new car smell. It was everything Segi determined that anyone should ever want. Driving this beauty, he slowed to the all-too-familiar four-way stop sign at the PSY mall parking lot, not making a complete stop. With an imperceptible smirk, Segi drove past his fanciful creation. He’d always admired this side-project—his brainchild feast for the eager senses. It was, afterall, a retail wonderland. 

The FSY mall contained a series of themed department stores with lines of products and an indoor theme park. As with any popular venue for the young, it was immediately transformed into _the place_ to have a date. Segi, however, wasn’t here for a date. Affection was foreign to him. It didn’t stop Jo from trying to get a rise out of him, but in growing up without a family, he’d not yet found his way in matters of the heart. He understood the basis, but applying it to real life was baffling. It was like his mind was stuck on only what made him comfortable, shutting the door on any connections that would pull the blanket out. For all he could imagine, waiting beyond that door was just an empty abyss played up by fantasy—not something he was dying to risk proving true, except in his productions. 

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, pulling off onto a dusty utility road that ran along the backside of the main building, following the address on his GPS, and checking the clock for the time. Ten minutes early. Dirt from the unpaved road continued to kick up under the tires mockingly. He’d have to send his beloved convertible to the carwash after this exploit. It deserved as much, considering how expensive it was. 

One of the storage areas was connected to a large manufacturing facility—he assumed must house an inventory of products. He tapped his chin and pulled into a make-believe parking spot that was both diagonal and crooked. Getting out into the autumn air, he left the car door ajar in case some gang had been hired to threaten him—he’d have a quick getaway this way. What, that was what he felt like doing in the moment! He made a disproving sound at his now filthy car while he walked away, holding a hand up to block out the cold, blaring sun so he could peer ahead. There was a door ahead—a corroded handle complained when he pushed it open. 

“Han Seo-Yun?” 

No answer. 

If he had hackles, they would have risen. Segi was officially suspicious. This was probably some ploy to get him out of that meeting so a legal team could be sent in while he was away. Was someone trying to remove him? He dragged his phone out to call Jo, but it rang and rang—probably had it on silent for the meeting (like everyone was supposed to do except him). He then called his lawyer, Jiho, who was supposed to be arriving shortly, but he also didn’t answer. 

While holding the phone up to his ear and listening to the endless ringing, Segi’s eyes semi-adjusted to the darkness inside where he heard something faint—a beeping sound. He pushed the door all the way open to prevent it from closing on him and locking him inside—he’d seen the horror movies, and now understood why they didn’t turn back. Cautiously walking inside, Segi turned on his phone flashlight and squinted into the dusty light it provided.

In the middle of the large space was a man slumped over in a chair, bound and gagged. 

Segi’s phone clattered to the ground, the space becoming once more enwrapped in heavy darkness. Blinking wildly, Segi bent to pick it up and hurriedly scanned the whole area. Overhead, it looked like there was a security camera. Briefly, he wondered if it was recording them. For now, it seemed himself and Mr. Victim over there were alone. He dialed emergency services.

“I’m at the manufacturing warehouse at FSY mall. Someone has been kidnapped.” 

“We’ve already received a tip at that location. Dispatch will be there shortly.”

The faint beeping started to increase in pace. Segi lifted the phone away from his ear and saw a red flashing light across the room. He moved towards it, seeing that it was some kind of device. Trading the phone for the device, he weaved his hands around the many wires to pick it up and inspect it. There was a countdown meter on the front panel. 

It was a bomb. 

23…

22…

21…

Immediate panic made Segi’s hands start to shake. The bomb slid from his loosened grip and fell to the ground. He knew from his compulsory military service in Iraq that he didn’t have nearly enough time to disarm it—if he could even remember how to—if he could even focus enough to. Nothing came to him. He knew it took a certain amount of time in his best form, but he couldn’t even recall what that was... Anything over 83 seconds... he had the shrapnel scars to prove it. If he could just cut a few wires… With what? It was better to give up and die together. He threw his head back in the direction of the tied-up man with a desperate sneer.

The man was no longer there. 

16…

15...

Loose rope lay tossed aside. The door on the other side of the large facility slammed shut.

13…

12...

Abruptly, the sound of breaking glass jarred out of his pocket where his other phone was. It was audio. A text tone. Nothing real, but the sound seemed to materialize in front of him as if there were thousands of tiny reflective shards scattering across the floor in that moment. The sound glittered through his head—an onslaught of mind-numbing pain jamming behind his eyes, searing into his skull with branded stakes. He swayed, the migraine subsiding like a receding wave. 

6...

His heart was racing in his throat, he let the breath he was holding out and started at a dead sprint. Time slowed down, trilling in his ears—the sound of each footstep closer to the door. A breach of sunlight—he dove to the ground and skidded into darkness.

1...

* * *

Sinews of consciousness reached into his haze-filled mind. Sounds burst through the surface like bubbles breaking through the black to a smoke-caressed sky. Brown eyes catching broken sunlight opened to the wails of sirens and roar of flames. He couldn’t move. His head listed to the side—coughs coming out as failed attempts to breathe. Faded, faraway yells ruptured his torpid thoughts—he tried to turn to see... 

The yells turned into sudden screams.

Crushing sounds barraged around him, debris landing everywhere as the building’s foundation collapsed beneath. A large slab of concrete slammed through the hood of his car right next to him, lifting the rear tires off the ground. So much for the carwash—the cynical thought hurt. Segi tried harder to get up, stumbling to one side, and leaning against the hot metal of the driver’s door. The flames were licking closer. They would soon consume his car as well. It was a feast for hell. 

Odd how he could see out to the public parking lot—that was on the other side of the building—it should be blocked from view. Segi shook his head, trying to stay conscious and throw the incessant ringing out of his ears. He could hear his own pants louder than anything else, his mind slowly registering exactly what he was staring at and why. 

The left-wing of the mall had completely collapsed.

Fumbling his body against the car door, he staggered forward through the haze. More wailing sirens joined in the song of catastrophe. Flashing red and blue lights made it harder to see. He blinked his blurred eyes to cries for help and blood-stained fingers reaching into nothingness under the falling sky. Customers. There were bodies littered on the ground—under rubble—that were once people. It felt so far away. 

A familiar ringing came from his pocket. In his shock, he still managed to answer it, his voice faded and hitching. 

“Segi?” It was Jo not hiding the relief from his voice. “The police are at your house. They’re saying you kidnapped someone! They even found evidence. You gotta come here so we can figure this out. Hello? Segi? Can you hear me? Are those sirens?”

He slowly lowered the phone and dropped it from his hands to the debris below, walking on like a ghost past droves of injured as they fled from the fires and the groaning metal beams remaining of the mall. This was all… _his_ fault? They were saying he kidnapped someone— _him_ ? With his own hands— evidence? What was… Had the bomb exploded— was he… supposed to be dead?  
  
He glanced upwards ahead—as if the answers to his questions were there. A civilian car was parked among the police cars and ambulances. Through the snowing ash, he thought he saw what looked like Jiho speaking into one of the officer’s ears and pointing towards him, but he couldn’t read lips. 

He must have been in on this. 

Jiho had been his lawyer for 5 years. In those 5 years, he never lost a case—good reason to keep him around. Despite that fact, Segi and Jiho were not close; it was just a business relationship. What did he know? What was he saying—did he expect to find the charred remains of Segi’s body? Someone was after him. Someone had tried to kill him. The thoughts bled together. He couldn’t recall how he had survived, but the kidnapped victim wasn’t in the blast. That meant. He was still alive. For a reason. What was that reason? 

“STOP RIGHT THERE!!”

Segi turned around, dazed eyes struggling to focus on the blurred figures emerging. He shook his head again, trying to refocus, bangs tickling his eyebrows, beaded with sweat. 

They were aiming their guns at him.

“Put your hands up and lay face down on the ground. You’re under arrest.” 

If whoever had done this hadn’t wanted him dead, they definitely wanted him behind bars. This was a setup. 

_“We’ve already received a tip at that location.”_

He was being framed—like he had planned _all_ this.

A radio sounded at the officer’s hip. Distraction—their eyes fell onto the speaker as if to hear it better. 

“Ssshrrp...That lawyer said his name is Jin Segi—have you found him? ...krrrt.” 

Segi took off. Everything in him wanted to trust the law, but he already knew he was locked in as the prime suspect, and evidence always spoke louder than words. Puzzle pieces fell into place in his mind and everything seemed to line up tragically with him as the culprit. The texts. The tip. The kidnapped victim. The bomb. Jiho. If only he had listened to Jo then none of this would’ve— 

“STOP!!” An officer interrupted his panicked thoughts with a yell, peeling off after him. They hadn’t expected him to run. As others around the chase pulled injured from the ruins, Segi had to leap over obstacles, dodge battered bodies, and regretfully not look back. They spread out of the collapsed building like ants fleeing a rainstorm. The officer was locked onto him, aiming his weapon, finger tightening against the trigger he was authorized to pull. 

“STOP!” 

Segi couldn’t.

A sickening bang resounded. 

“Ahgrr!” Segi dropped to the ground like a ragdoll, black eating at the edges of his vision. A warm numbness leaked out of his side, regret biting into him with searing fangs—cold, cold lead. His nails dug violently into the gravel, moving stones through the mud, grounding his pain. The fabric of his being felt torn apart in that moment, leaving who he was behind when he dragged himself to his feet and forced his legs to continue running. 

The barrel of the gun smoked into the acrid autumn air. The rookie officer came to an abrupt halt, quivering in horror at what he had just done. The target wasn’t a piece of paper at a firing range. The target left behind a scarlet trail of blood—a villain exiting into the midday sun and flare of fire-torn hopes and dreams.  
  



	2. Burning Up

Why is this happening? It was all Segi could think as he ran blindly through the night, cradling his center as the pain slowly tore his insides apart, radiating throughout his whole body. He ran on instinct alone, mind latching onto that single question like a mantra to keep going lest he collapse behind a dumpster only to be found dead the next morning. 

It was hard not to imagine when each step felt like the last—each heartbeat reverberating with disbelief that this next one could end it all. Part of his mind twilled over the reality of what transpired, the other part in denial that he was currently running from the law. The surreality of it all breezed over the outsides of his mind like the crisp night air along the edges of his clothing. 

He had been under the impression that he had few enemies—that he was even well-liked— never sunk to foul play. Segi ran a company that produced animated films for children. His dream was to become like Walt Disney—not a villain...that would kill all those people. It was horrifying to think about— _ strangling _ . Segi did not go through all those years in foster care jumping from one failed happy-ever-after to another to end up in the gutter like this. Dead in an alleyway. 

Fading fast, he somehow knew he was in range of a familiar hos— His shoulder slammed hard into something soft and warm, but it repelled his weakened body backward onto the gum-stained pavement. 

“Uuff??” Without his usual strength, he was winded, clutching—curling into himself in pain. “Hrrrgg…”

* * *

Eunha had been out enjoying her first break of the night, which really made her want to take up smoking to pass the time, but as a doctor, she’d look real bad if she didn’t take her own advice. Suddenly, a jogger ran right into her? Bewildered, she staggered a few steps backward and was about to yell at the asshole who probably left a bruise for later, but he was on the ground writhing, so she changed her mind, mercifully. 

“Are you okay?” Eunha bent down to him, white coat brushing the rough sidewalk, long honey-colored hair cascading around her face. She held out her hand, but then she saw the reason why he was struggling to get up. As he managed to rise to his feet, his suit jacket shifted, revealing a dark, red stain on his white dress shirt and likely down his black pants judging from the extent of the bleeding. The man’s dark eyes seemed to notice her fixed gaze on it and he didn’t seem happy about it.

He tried to focus on her, lungs burning from his escape—winded gasps penetrating the silence that followed her question. He forced back any distressed sounds from escaping his lips instead of words, grasping desperately at the consciousness that was bleeding out of him. Distantly, his eyes struggled to collect simple details like they were dissertations on the transition into criminality. He saw her white coat and determined she must be a doctor—a doctor from the hospital that he had been to enough times he could find it in the dark. He saw the faint red glow of the ‘Emergency Services’ sign— _ help _ . But knew he couldn’t go inside. The thought shoved him into a corner—why had he bothered running this way? It clicked—vibrantly, drilling into the very fabric of his soul. He knew that what he had to do next would pollute his moral compass and change the course of his whole life.    
  


She gasped and then gasped again when he grabbed her outstretched hand, yanking her roughly toward him. She naturally fell into his arms, a pocket knife pressed against her carotid artery with the precision of an expert. Was this guy an escaped convict or something?! She pursed her lips together, furrowed her brows, and went silent.

“Get it out.”

“W-what?” 

Segi knew for a fact she had seen the blood staining his shirt. 

“The bullet. You’re a doctor. Get it out,” Segi breathed raggedly, struggling to focus his eyes on the doctor’s face he was now committing an actual crime against. This was a plead guilty moment. Her auburn hair gently framed her face, concerned amber eyes never leaving his despite how he threatened her. “It’s...still in there—can you get it out?” His weight leaned into her, as dizziness swept him to the side like he had all too much for happy hour. In an effort to not gouge her neck, he grabbed her sleeve with his other hand, maneuvering his heavy body onto a nearby bench. She supported most of his weight, lowering him onto it with a look of distress. The knife had to go.

“You don’t need that. You’re going to hurt somebody. Put it away and I’ll see what I can do. ...Seriously. Put. It. Away.”

“Al-alright.” Segi flipped the knife closed and dropped it back into his pocket where it rubbed against a third phone— he had lost his personal and business phone there, but still had this one? Shit. They could be tracking his location. 

“Sit back.” 

Segi was tensely leaning forward with a serious look, but at her command, he slowly settled against the dampened wood of the backrest, grimacing from the movement. Since he had stopped running, the pain was unbearable. Everything was hot—a floaty, violent pressure building in his head. His eyes shifted in and out of focus and he almost let himself pass out. 

“Did you put pressure on it?”

“...huh?”

“When it first happened, did you apply pressure? I need to know how much blood you’ve lost.”

“No.”

“Mm, you could go into hypovolemic shock, or are in it. You need a transfusion. Let me see.” Without further warning, she flipped up his shirt, and smeared over his abdomen was a smattering of sticky, caked blood. She touched around the pale skin and a pool immediately oozed near her finger. He grunted. This was an emergency. He could die. Right here. Casually, she reached into her deep pockets and touched a few of the supplies she had gathered for her next patient. She withdrew some gauze and slabbed it over the river now forming. It immediately soaked through. She noticed he had diverted his eyes. Not many could handle a gory scene when it was happening to them. 

While he was turned away, the doctor pulled out a syringe she hadn’t used on her previous patient, loaded with propofol—a medication that induced unconsciousness. She grabbed his arm that was limp at his side and turned it to reveal a thick vein on the inside of his elbow. She slid the needle deep and, as slowly as she could, released half the vile. Her eyes lifted to see his expression change to confusion. He grabbed her hand with his, lacking the strength. The medication going in both burned and filled his arm with a strange, tight pain. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m helping you.” 

“What is that?” He pulled away to the other side of the bench, forcing her to yank the needle out before it damaged the vein. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He wouldn’t remember anyway.

“What?” He went to stand up, feeling the shock come up and slowly get medically buried under an avalanche of dazed confusion. “What…”

“Oh, don’t stand up.” She grabbed his suit jacket sleeve and tried to pull him back onto the bench, but he resisted, shaking her off. 

“You said I didn’t need the knife dammit!”

“And I meant it.” She was humoring him. In a minute, it would be all over, and she was mildly enjoying watching him battle back the drug. Not many would last past a minute.

“What are you going to do...don’t d…” 

She smiled sympathetically as he lost his speech mechanics and stared at her, placing all his focus on just that until his eyes started flickering like a broken lightbulb, rolling and then… he dropped. But she was there to catch him, lowering him back onto the bench as cautiously as she could 150-something-pounds.

“Phone,” he silently mouthed.

“Shhh…” She tilted his head, feeling his pulse, and watching him blink a few strangled times until his eyes slid finally shut. 

“I HAVE A CODE OVER HERE!!!” She pushed off running, grabbing orderlies from the side entrance to the ER. “We’ll need to roll him in. I just gave him propofol. He’s potentially dangerous.” 

A burst of expert commotion flowed out of the swinging doors and loaded Segi’s unconscious form onto the gurney. They ripped open his shirt, a few buttons bursting off. A nurse pulled an oxygen mask over his dirt-smeared face and another started taking his vitals. It wasn’t looking good. They had to take him straight into surgery. 

“Blood type?” One of them asked as if the doctor knew anything about him. 

“Not sure.” Eunha shrugged, running alongside and taking over applying the pressure. “Get the anesthesiologist. Prep him for surgery right away. We need to get that bullet out.”

* * *

Cold. Segi came to from a medically induced sleep, violently shivering. An extra blanket was tucked over him. Someone brushed back his black bangs so they were out of his face. Frigid metal slapped and clicked around his wrist, jangling loudly. Muffled arguments. Silence. 

* * *




He opened his eyes and his head was reeling. Segi went to lift his hand, but it was bound. Tubes flopped around also in protest, his eyes followed them to bags of fluid hanging overhead. He closed his eyes and lifted his free hand to his head, a plastic device on his finger getting in the way. 

“Hhnn…” He felt like shit. His stomach churned and he felt bile rise in his throat, dryly trying to swallow—like sandpaper rubbing together. Ugh. He wanted water but also felt like if he drank it, he’d throw it right back up.

“Yes, no movement. We’re still waiting for him to regain consciousness. He’s in isolation right now. Will do. As soon as we get the green-light, we’ll interrogate him. 43 dead, 12 children—we’ll put this asshole to bed.”

_ CLANK _

With all the strength he could muster, Segi had yanked violently at the handcuffs, his body half-hanging off the bed by the wrist in a delirious attempt at escape. He had felt fairly numb before, but the quick, agonizing movement broke through the haze of painkillers with jarring clarity. He had to endure. Gritting his teeth, he froze, trying to ride it out so he could move again. 

The door opened and a doctor entered the room. She seemed familiar? And yet Segi couldn’t place how he recognized her—from where—where he had been... there were screams. The blood-curdling cries of anguish and rumbling of collapse. It wasn’t just the destruction of the mall; it was people’s lives falling forfeit—the barrel of a gun aimed at him… 

“Just  _ what _ do you think you’re doing?” 

Deer-in-headlights, Segi bewilderedly stared back at her like he didn’t understand the question. 

“I said, what are you doing. Get back in the bed and don’t make me sedate you again.”

“...again?”

“Oh, you  _ can _ speak. Yes, again. You threatened me with a knife. Now, back. In. Bed.”

“Threatened you…?” That’s right—everyone still thought he had killed all those people—kidnapped someone, now the look on her face telling him he had threatened her… Did he do that? He felt his mental grip slacken—black and white—right from wrong no longer seeming as distinctive—no longer defined by the conforms of reality. This couldn’t be real. Was he slowly losing his mind? 

A beeping monitor beside his bed began to raise its tempo, reminding him of the sound right before he found the bomb—before it went off—in the sore breaths when he could have prevented all this from happening—in the stale time before it took it all away. It was about to go off. It was going to— it was going to— Fumbling with his wrist, he writhed against the metal handcuff, nearly dragging the bed away from the wall. His chest. It hurt. He couldn’t— He grabbed at his chest, realizing he couldn’t breathe, gasping. He doubled over onto the floor, bruising his knees—arm suspended in the air, but he couldn’t feel it. His hands were completely numb. 

Maybe she would have to sedate him. She couldn’t have her patient going into cardiac arrest now too. 

“Woah, woah calm down.” The doctor was at his side on the floor. She placed a hand under his, pressed against his chest and was studying his lidded eyes. “Take a deep breath. 1...2...3...exhale...1...2...3.” She massaged her hand against his chest, rubbing it, patting it. “Count with me.” She hadn’t expected this out of him. He seemed terrified. “1...2...3.” She searched his face again, noting he was trying hard to breathe with her counts. “1...2...3.” As he calmed down, she could sense something about this story unfolding before her that wasn’t quite right. 

“Let’s get you back up.” She guided him off the floor and back into the bed, careful of his movement restrictive wrist that was still connected to the bed railing. 

“Don’t tell them yet...please,” Segi found himself begging, tears biting the edges of his eyes and threatening to fall. His voice was shaking. “...that I’m awake.” He was pleading with her. If she told the officers outside he was awake, everything would become real again. They’d accuse him—they’d blame him. He’d be stripped bare, dignity torn to shreds, and everything he was turned into a lie. “I...I need to think.”

Eunha had never been asked to lie by any of her patients before—though she had heard stories of domestic abuse cases coming into the ER. Often injuries were tied to crimes so she had seen her fair share, but this—what was this? His question had caught her wildly by surprise. It seemed as though he was trying to hold onto even minutes of time before he had to be interrogated—as a suspect? It was still surprising that Jin Segi, the founder of PSY, was currently handcuffed to a bed in her hospital—as the culprit of yesterday’s incident? Either way, she wasn’t so sure—especially now—that she would clear him for questioning regardless, but…

“Why would I do that? They just told me you’re a suspect.” And while Eunha knew she shouldn’t press her patient right now following his panic attack, she couldn’t help her own curiosity from spilling over based on her previous impression of him. How could he of all people have done this? She knew every year he donated to their hospital’s Cancer Center for Children and even sent FSY care packages on more than one occasion. She’d heard this in passing, but it stuck with her. Ultimately, his answer would dictate her answer. If she was about to go against protocol, she at least had to understand why.

“N-no...I just got a text.” Segi looked nervously at the machines, the sound of his own heartbeat rhythmically driving him crazy. “I was framed.”

“You were framed?!” 

“Shh!” Segi hissed, looking at the door as if willing it to stay closed forever. “None of this was my fault.” 

“Why can’t you just tell them that?”

“They found evidence.”

“If there’s evidence then...”

“It must’ve been planted.” 

“By who—who planted it?” 

“I have to find that out and I can’t if...” 

A shrieking alarm made him jump out of his skin, the rest of his words falling away. He wildly looked at the doctor, whose expression matched his. Dumbfounded and deaf for the first few seconds, they just held eye contact. She stood up and went to leave him, but thought better of it and hovered. 

“That’s the fire alarm,” she yelled at him. His eyes flitted down to the handcuff on his wrist keeping him there. He pulled at it again like it would solve something. “One second.” She held up a finger because she was sure he couldn’t hear her.

The doctor whose name tag read: Cho Eunha—he saw—ran to the door and pushed it open. Immediately, smoke filtered in. She covered her mouth with her hand and spun around. Segi also saw the smoke and was fiddling with the handcuffs. He raised his eyes back up at her in a silent ask. She shook her head. The officers outside were nowhere to be found. The heavy padding of feet could be sensed in the hallway outside of the ICU, where they were behind many doors. If the smoke kept coming in… He was stuck. She started to panic. Was she supposed to just leave him here and go herself? He could die. 

“If I break my thumb, can you set it?” The look in his eyes changed—all he needed was to survive.

Eunha looked at him like he had five heads. His tone of voice sounded hard. How was this guy planning on doing that exactly? What, was he ex-military or was he really a convict? 

He didn’t wait for an answer. In one swift movement, he popped his thumb out at the CDC joint. A cold sweat formed all over his body. He fought instinct and used the obligatory space left in the handcuff to try and yank his dislocated hand through. It didn’t fit. Smoke started pluming in under the door. The doctor was staring at him and thinking about where she could find wire cutters in the hospital. Segi used the rail of his bed, angling his hand with care—like aiming a pool stick at the final 8-ball—and with expert precision, slammed his other hand into it. 

_ CRACK. _

“Mmff!!” Segi bit the inside of his lip and tried to control his erratic breathing. He flopped his loosened and battered thumb further toward his pinky and still barely slipped out of the cuff. As soon as he was free, he clutched his hand between his legs and looked up at the doctor like a cornered predator. The fire alarm wailed on.

Eunha approached him quickly and started to methodically take out the IV. Segi yanked the pulse oximeter off his finger and ripped the catheter out of his arm, giving her a there’s-no-time look as he dragged himself off the bed, stumbling into a supply cabinet. As he fell into it, his uninjured hand swiped a scalpel off the metal pan that was there, slipping it into the pocket of his hospital garb. 

She was already hastily digging through a cabinet, pulling out his shoes, his pants, and cellphone that had been bagged to be taken into evidence. She left the knife. About to hand Segi his shoes to put on, she realized there wasn’t time. They were starting to choke on the air. He grabbed her arm roughly, using his half-stumbling momentum to pull her out the door. 

“Run.”

Completely reeling, Eunha relied on his instincts, knowing he was her best chance at survival. Still holding the shoes and pants, she tried to support him and run. When they got to the hallway outside the ICU, she frantically looked both ways. Segi seemed to be trying to assess a direction. It only took minutes to suffocate, and the air filtration system wasn’t as efficient outside the ICU. Which way was the fire—which way should they go? The closest exit was the elevators, but because of the fire, they had to take the stairs all the way on the other side.

“This way.” She took Segi by surprise, yanking him by the arm toward the stairwell, her hand slipped down his arm—blood that neither of them had noticed from pulling out the IV. She frowned disapprovingly.

In the stairwell, it was ten times louder. It sounded like a freight train roaring. Everything echoed—screams of patients and staff alike, filling the tight space, the wailing of the alarm falling into the background. Coughing. It was overwhelmingly loud. Segi gripped the handrail, painstakingly climbing down each step. Eunha wrapped her free hand around his waist, careful of the bandages, struggling to keep him balanced. She was sure his equilibrium was in turmoil. He kept listing one way and she had to keep bringing him back to her—the look on his face saying it all. 

She pressed on, concentrating hard. Coughing. They got to the bottom of the second flight of stairs and she let go of Segi, leaving him to hang on the railing so she could feel the door before opening it. The surface burned. She retracted her hand instantly, knowing now that the location of the fire was on the other side of the door. They had to get through it in order to get to the ground level. There were people stopped behind them—traffic of bodies. One woman was in hysterics. Many more were crying and yelling and coughing. A few sat down, lowering their heads under the smoke. Coughing. It was distracting. Eunha had to think! She had a goddamn degree!  _ SHUT UP!!!  _

“What is the hold-up!?”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE.”

“Keep moving! Keep moving!”

“We’re all gunna die!” 

“Oh god. Wake up!”

“That’s the fire, right? We’re trapped, aren’t we.”

“What are we going to do? My mother is on the 6th floor. Oh my god she isn’t going to make    
it out.” 

“My sister is on the 8th floor getting an MRI…” 

It was true. They were going to die here. There wasn’t time to go back. They wouldn’t survive long enough to find another way out. Even if they did, they wouldn’t have the stamina—Segi especially—to make it out. She couldn’t just let herself die like this, but also couldn’t help the hot tears that slid down her cheeks, smearing her mascara. 

Footsteps were echoing loudly down from the upper floors as more and more chatter filtered down, trying to evacuate. Coughing. Eunha went to search for Segi’s eyes again to try and find an answer or just to say a final goodbye—she wasn’t sure which. She noticed he wasn’t where she’d left him. He was starting to climb over a divider railing that blocked what she assumed was the next set of stairs to the ground level. The railing didn’t go all the way up—there was a fairly large gap between the top of it and the ceiling, but she hadn’t even noticed it. How had he…? 

She looked up at Segi with a sudden stream of hope, burying the twinge in her gut and sour twist of fear filling her nerves with lightning. Jittery, she saw him reach a hand out to her from above, a wry smile playing on his lips. ...How could he be smiling in this situation? 

Coughing, she apprehensively took the outstretched hand. He strengthened their grip by grabbing her harder and hoisting her up until she was able to swing a leg over. He dropped to the other side and teetered in one direction, slamming against the handrail. Frumpled like wet clothing, he draped himself there for a moment, choking on the air, and nearly sliding down to the ground. He managed to gather himself back together and moved to stand beneath the railing, holding out both his arms. 

“Jump.” 

She let herself drop from the top of the railing, involuntarily squeezing her eyes shut. Her body collided roughly with his—ouch this wasn’t like the movies. She was sure she hurt him, but his arms around her felt so safe. When he let her go, she felt herself missing their shelter—she had to return back to the situation. 

“THIS WAY,” Segi called through the railing to the others, voice hoarse from coughing and cracking as it struggled to be heard over the ear-splitting noise. Those who were behind them started to get up, moving towards the railing too. Others started yelling backward to inform those further back. 

It was just a few more steps down. They burst through the emergency exit and into another warzone outside. Firefighters were darting around patients and hospital staff in droves to get into the building while more kept pouring out. To Segi, it felt like deja vu.


	3. Your Eyes Tell

The fresh air hurt.

“There are people inside!!” Eunha coughed in the direction of the firefighters, holding the door open behind her with her foot so it wouldn’t lock shut. A team of three exchanged looks and ran inside the door, propping it open. The stairwell was billowing with smoke inside. Segi’s weight was getting heavier and he was strangely still. As soon as she turned to check on him, he dropped—dead weight—completely limp. She tried to catch him, but his heaviness dragged her all the way down to the wet soil. Her knees and shins were instantly wet, but she was more worried about cradling his head so it didn’t hit the ground. 

“Sh-shit. HELP! SOMEONE! HELP!” Frantic and crying yet again, Eunha looked around for someone—anyone to help carry him, but people were running everywhere. A loss of consciousness was never a good sign. She held a finger under his nose to feel his breath, relieved it was faintly there. She coughed, clearing her throat from yelling, and started lightly patting his cheek. 

“Hey.  **Hey.** Can you wake up for me? Segi?” There was no response. She started dragging him along the lawn by the arms, looking around for a destination she could go. “Help…” She saw a few ambulances parked along the road and started dragging in that direction, leaving a line of smudged grass behind them. 

“HELP!” She yelled, but no one seemed to hear her. She had to do this alone. 

Over the embossed metal of the ambulance steps, she dragged his back, scraping him up onto the floor to the side of the empty gurney. She was so out of breath—so tired she thought she would collapse right there, but found her strength again to get him onto the bedding. Completely alone, she found it odd. 

“Odd,” she breathed, trying to drag his head down to the otherside so his feet didn’t hang off. Oxygen! She immediately went for the masks, fitting it over his nose and mouth, and turning the dial. She felt his pulse again, lips moving as she counted. It wasn’t the best, but it also wasn’t a red flag. 

“Breathe for me,” she whispered, resting a hand on top of his head absentmindedly. If what he said was true, he had to live so he could prove his innocence. She noticed his eyes were flickering open and saw him reach up to pull the mask off—as was the reaction of most when they came to. At first, she went to hold it there, but the face he made at her caused her not to. 

“You…?” he breathed. “What about you?” He tried to hand the mask over to her, but it was her turn to make a face.

“I didn’t pass out,” she smiled. 

“...shut up.”

“No, _ you _ .” Eunha put her hand on her hips, slapping the mask back on him half to shut him up and half to make sure his body was getting enough air. “Well, I can at least tell you that you certainly didn’t start that fire.”   
  


He lifted the mask up again to speak. “I. Didn’t.” 

“Strange though—that it was blocking the exit.” 

He scoffed, which sounded a bit weak. She frowned and pressed the mask back down. She’d glue it to his face if she had to. 

“Let me see your thumb.” She grabbed up his hand and moved it around in hers, methodically inspecting the range of motion in each joint. “Just lay there for a little and focus on breathing. Stop talking, okay?” She noticed how his face became pained as she fiddled around with the damaged digit. “You know, my mom told me once that my dad was caught stealing from a grocery store. Back then, we didn’t really have a lot of money.” 

_ CRACK _

“She said he’d try and take canned fruit and stack them in his pockets from different stores. That was part of the reason why I went to medical school. So I could provide for them. The look on my mom’s face when I got home was worth the late nights…” She knew Segi had long since passed out from the pain of resetting his broken thumb, but she kept talking like she was telling him a bedtime story. Wasn’t sure why she did—she just wanted to comfort him in any small way she could. 

As Segi slept on, she wrapped his thumb carefully with a tight splint, taking the opportunity to inspect his wound. She lifted his shirt to reveal the abused and stained bandages beneath—it was to be expected after moving so much after surgery. All the running, climbing up railings, and being dragged across the lawn did not do any justice for his healing process. She quietly looked up at the ceiling of the ambulance, trying to tune out the rumble of the fire, wailing of the sirens, and commotion drifting in from outside. She wanted nothing more than to wish it all away. Taking a shaky breath, she slowly started peeling back the adhesive. 

Luckily, it was nothing serious. 

Eunha let this small win put a smile on her face… She wasn’t sure why she felt so relieved. Turning back to her work, she took some gauze and began cleaning up the leakage around the wound. Some of it was dried and she had to dig it off, but most of it was fresh and easily absorbed. She proceeded to tidy up the loosened stitches and the flesh that held them fast—bright red and aggravated. Short of taking him back into surgery, she did her best.    
  
When Eunha was finished, she put on a fresh bandage and smoothed it out with a light touch. His abdomen moved up and down with his diaphragmatic breaths. She pulled down his shirt and grabbed a bandage for his arm, cleaning the sheen of blood off that had dried there from yanking out the IV. She moved back to his face, noticing he was sweating profusely, smearing the soot down the sides of his cheeks. She grabbed another towelette and started dabbing it off until it was as clean as she could get it with what she had on hand. 

She really wasn’t pleased at the level of supplies—there was no local anesthetic available, and the skin around the bullet wound had looked so angry. She wasn’t sure how he was putting up with the pain and wanted to set him up with an IV and provide medication to help him with it. There was also the option to sedate him and forcibly keep him in the ambulance until they could transfer hospitals, but… she didn’t want to. 

Eunha spent the next few minutes, taking what supplies she could from the ambulance and packing them into a medical kit. Regardless, he would need it—the bandage needed to be replaced every few hours. Everything she took was essentials, leaving anything she could behind for other patients that had also been caught up in the fire. 

In a perfect world, Segi would’ve also needed to be observed in the hospital for another five days at least—some abdominal gunshot wounds even required multiple surgeries. She sighed and placed his phone on top of the medical kit with his shoes and pants, staring at them forlornly. 

Segi began to stir and she moved back to him, armed with a bottle of water. They needed to hydrate—it was nearly as important as breathing. He opened his eyes and stared deliriously at her, void of recognition. His pupils expanded as he tried to focus on her. Eunha gave him a sympathetic look. 

“...You know, you don’t look like a criminal. Just saying.” She picked up his unbandaged hand and forced the water bottle into it. “Finish this. I’m going to go see if anyone else needs help—can you stay here alone until I come b...” She trailed off, seeing his expression change suddenly. It seemed as though a realization had struck him hard—it was all over his face. Did he forget where he was? 

_ Criminal _ . The police were after him. They were sure to find him here. How long had he been out—how much time did he lose? If the doctor left now… 

He needed her to survive. 

He tore through his pocket and pulled out the scalpel he had taken, lunging off the gurney and grabbing her. Deja vu. She let out a shriek of surprise. The water bottle dropped and rolled.

“Your car. Take me to your car.” 

“M-my car?” She was startled, but she was also pissed. This again? Who did he think he was? If he wasn’t a criminal, then he should stop acting like one if he ever wanted to prove that he was framed. Unless that was all a lie anyway. She was well aware of how crafty the bottom feeders could be. If she was just caught in his trap, she wanted out, but if it was as she suspected, she wanted to find out the truth. Whether she liked it or not, Eunha knew she was already in the thick of his web. 

She held up her hands and carefully turned her head to try and meet his eyes. He looked frantic and scared, but also had a certain coldness—a look of pure survival. So different from before. She could understand it though, imagining herself in his designer shoes, roughed up from running away. It made her realize she didn’t really know anything about him at all. 

“Okay, but first,” she said, “drink the water. And are you going to go out looking like that?” 

He blinked, bewildered by her question, looking down at himself. He went to press the scalpel against her neck but stopped as if finally discerning who she was: someone seemingly on his side—enough to comment on what he was wearing. He pulled the scalpel back again and Segi looked at it like it was alien to him. 

Eunha bent to pick up the water bottle and held it shakily back out to him with a grunt and a mock-angry look. She had to cut him some slack. It was very disorienting to keep waking up in different places. A lot of patients in the ICU struggled and they even kept waking up in the same place. His situation was tenfold. 

“I brought your clothes. Take these, then we can go.” She handed him a couple of strong painkillers and then watched him slowly sip at the water, coughing them down. 

“Fine.” Strangely enough, his voice sounded even more hoarse after drinking the water. She turned back to the kit and threw him his pants and a black EMT hoodie she had found in her search of the ambulance. 

Segi caught it, not hiding his eyes from lighting up at the promise of wearing a hoodie. He would live in one if he had the chance, but he was seen on the regular—pictures of him posted all the time on Instagram—videos of him crossing the street trending on social media. Going out in public meant looking his best 24/7. Though, now that he was branded as a criminal, he might as well put his hood up. 

He stripped off the hospital garb, raising his arms up and pulling at the stitches with a grimace. The action unbalanced him and he nearly toppled over trying to get the hoodie on. When he looked up...

Eunha had raised a hand to touch her lips. This was different—a different feeling than the lack thereof from her other patients. She couldn’t pry her eyes away from him and his less than graceful movements. It was okay when she lifted his shirt herself, but this view? Pure sin. She turned around. As an ER physician, it wasn’t like she got to go out much, but she saw a lotttt of naked people. And, well, this was different.

Segi lifted an eyebrow, his mind still struggling with the series of events to react any further. Briefly, he registered that she was respecting his privacy—at the same time, she was a doctor, so why? It made him feel shy all of a sudden. He quickly slipped into his pants and flipped up the hood, using his hands to hold it in place while he turned back to her with a sly, yet tired smirk that masked his embarrassment. 

“So...do I look like a convict?” 

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she snickered. 

Eunha helped him to the car, and it was slow, but it went without a hitch. By the time they got there, Segi was already panting. He leaned heavily against the driver’s door with his head back, eyes closed. She gave him a minute even as sirens wailed in the background and officials piled into the area. It looked like the fire was out. Briefly, she wondered how many people had died...

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” 

“I’m fine.” He splayed a hand out to her—that recurrent, determined look in his eyes. “Car keys.” 

“Where are we going?” She handed them to him and he got in and started the car. “You probably shouldn’t drive...” 

“I’m fine,” he repeated, backing out as she worriedly fumbled with her seatbelt. As soon as the car was righted, he gunned it, speeding off in the direction of the highway. Hopefully, they hadn’t set up checkpoints already. And if the detectives were diligent and reviewed the parking lot cameras later, they would likely get Eunha’s license plate number to track them down—perhaps even thinking he had stolen her car. He wasn’t sure why he was analyzing all the details like that in his head, but it was vital to stay under the radar if he was going to make it out of this mess. 

Feeling like a criminal, Segi pulled out the phone Eunha had retrieved for him while they were stopped at a redlight before the entrance onramp. This was the same phone he was concerned about the detectives tracking, but for whatever reason, still ended up bringing it with him—he wasn’t sure why. He powered it on and looked back up at the road, pondering for a second. It didn’t have a selfie camera so it must be an older model than his others—when did he buy it? What was the code then for this one? His other phones all had separate backup passcodes for when the facial recognition didn’t work (or when he was wearing sunglasses), but...this one? He typed in both of his other passcodes, but neither of them got him through. He was so confused. 

“What are you doing?” Eunha was looking down at the phone in his lap that he kept glancing down to and then back up at the light. 

“Trying to unlock this.” He propped it up in the cupholder, giving up on his attempt to get into his own phone. People forgot passwords all the time, right—he wasn’t crazy? Wait...was this his phone? He stared at the alien object in the cupholder like it had betrayed him. Maybe she had mixed them up with another patient’s when they were going through his things? This wasn’t his phone. “Do you think maybe…”

The light turned green and his eyes snapped back up to attention. He accelerated onto the ramp, his focus now on merging into the fast-paced traffic. The distraction of not hitting other cars ended his previous train of thought and, instead, they both focused on their getaway. 

* * *

  
  


_ The classroom, filled with primary colors, spitballs, and a backpack next to the wooden desk—inside the backpack, a vile of sleeping pills. Just enough, he said. They would fall asleep.  _

**_Wake up_ **

_ A pitcher of water they drank from each morning. Cloudy now. Glasses filled, lips draining. Moments by and the shrill rupture of glass shards scattering across the kitchen floor, masking the collapse of bodies—down, down.  _

**_Wake up_ **

_ Running feet grinding against the glass—biting pain left unfelt. Backpacks not filled with books, but with everything they needed: clothes and Marvel action figures—Iron Man’s arm caught in the zipper. _

**_Wake up_ **

_ Streetlights outside seeming to flicker—was it rain? It was getting brighter, the lights outside the door were—  _

* * *

Segi snapped awake, the sound of screeching blaring in his ears. Hands brushed against his, yanking the wheel back in one direction to narrowly avoid a guardrail. He hit the brake hard, skidding off to the shoulder into a grinding halt. Just their breathing could be heard. Silently, Segi turned to look at Eunha in the passenger seat, fear displaced her expression. Everything had an after-blur. He could hardly see straight. 

“What…” He started, immediately regretting it. 

“You passed out.” She pushed the hood off his head and stared hard into his disoriented eyes, putting a hand under his fringe against his forehead, the tips wet with sweat, tickling the top of her palm. It felt like touching the door earlier. “You are burning up.” She withdrew her hand and sighed, revising her stern tone. “It’s okay…don’t worry. You just need to take something, but...” The clock read 10:41 pm. It hadn’t been 6 hours yet; it had only been 4. “In a little bit, okay?” She smiled and unrumpled his hood against his back while he dazedly looked on at her. “Switch with me?”

His expression immediately became solemn. “I can’t.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“What if we crash… you weren’t in a state to drive to begin with.” Why was it at one moment he seemed to trust her and then in another he blatantly didn’t? 

“Don’t worry.” He threw her words right back at her and put his blinker on, pulling back out into traffic. Ignoring any other protests, he opened the window to feel the cool night air on his face and use the wind to help wake him up.    
  
Another ten minutes went by and he was struggling to focus again. Eunha’s hands were hovering close to the wheel, making him feel nervous, but the feeling was soon covered up by creeping exhaustion. He started to fade out. 

“Pull over,” Eunha demanded.    
  
The car was veering, dragging against the rumble pad. Offhandedly, he thought it odd that he didn’t even hear it or feel it until now. The car slowed to a stop and he shifted it into park. It felt like he was operating in a dream world. Everything was slow and washed out and sinking just below the surface. The lights going by were ethereal and bright, drawing his mind off in various, scattered directions. Floating lights. He let out a breath and looked at her.

“...can I lie down in the back?” 

“Of course you can. You desperately need to rest... Stay there.” Eunha got up and walked around the car to his door, opening it. “Think you can stand up?” He nodded and she pulled him up by the arms and got him into the backseat. Things weren’t looking good—he was barely responsive, but she was just relieved they weren’t catapulting into traffic to their deaths any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, pulling his hood back up to cover his face, turning away to face the backrest. 

“...are you...crying?” 

“No.”

She yanked the hood back, a few tears glistening from the streetlamps down his cheeks. “What…” She was completely taken aback, but put a hand gently on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s natural to feel this way. Just close your eyes and I won’t let anything happen to you.”    
  


“...your parents...they must be proud you went to medical school.” 

“What?” She asked again, but no response came. He was already unconscious—she could hear his breaths had evened out. Then it occurred to her. He  _ had _ heard the rest of her story from earlier. She grinned quietly to herself and moved back around to the driver’s side. 10:57 pm. 

* * *

“Hey, hey. Segi...” 

Eunha had been driving for only an hour before she grew drowsy herself. She just couldn’t stop thinking. With Segi now passed out in the back, she was alone with only her self-deprecating thoughts and nothing to distract her from addressing them. It was easy for her to push feelings off to cope with later—as both a practicing EM and ICU physician, it was a requirement of the job. In the trenches, seeing patients at their sickest—on the verge of death—she knew endurance and she knew how to control her state of mind. She knew how to handle seeing people she tried to save instead go. And she had to deal with that. Just like now she had to deal with the decision she made to go with Segi—even if she tried to convince herself there wasn’t really a choice. He would die without her? If he was a criminal, so what if he did? He wouldn’t be able to prove his innocence? Wouldn’t that come out in the courtroom anyway? The justice system could be flawed—he could tear his stitches—none of those recurring thoughts mattered anymore. She thought about them enough. It wasn’t why she was here now. She was here because he cared about those children without futures—because he created movies that gave those futures back. Segi Jin was a good person, and she was going to protect him.

She was still falling asleep though and figured it best (unlike Segi) to pull over and try and find somewhere to hide out and sleep. This wasn’t her job though; it was the one in the back’s, but. He hadn’t responded. She couldn’t just park on the side of the highway—parked cars overnight were suspicious. They could get caught. Completely lost without her phone’s GPS, she attempted to use Segi’s that was sitting in the cupholder...but she couldn’t get it to unlock. She was shaking him, but all she elicited were some muffled groans. She felt his head again and it was the same if not worse. She had to get them somewhere and get him up so he could take something and get his temperature down. 

Eunha got back into her car and pulled out, driving practically alone on the highway, looking desperately for signs. There were a couple of love hotels, but… she couldn’t decide what theme she wanted—1920’s or Victorian so she didn’t stop. She seriously almost turned around before she finally caught sight of a plainsman motel and pulled off at its exit. It took her awhile to get into a parking spot in the back, maneuvering her not-yet-paid-off car into a narrow wedge. She hid it in the shadow of a giant dumpster, out of view. 

Turning off the ignition, she got out, rummaging around in her pocket for her wallet. It was probably best for her to put the room in her name; she’d leave him here and go in herself. He probably wouldn’t wake up anyway. She sleepwalked into the motel and up to the front desk where a strangely normal-looking nightowl greeted her. 

“Two beds please.” She slapped cash onto the murky counter and took the defiled room key. Instead of going to the room as normal patrons would, she beelined it back to the car, worried and in a huff about Segi for no reason in particular—just a pressing, nagging feeling.

* * *

_ It was raining—the sound of falling water outside, rushing through the gutters, weighing the leaves down—pitter pattering against the pavement. Dripping tingles of water filled the empty silence of waiting—spaces between each drop muffling the sound of lowered children’s voices. One was his own.  _

**_Wake up._ **

_ Drawers opened and closed. Bruises covered every inch of unexposed skin, not his own. A near-empty pitcher of water on the table. Glass covering the floor. Bare feet and blood, crunching—crunching into footsteps still alive with the vying clench of escape, fueling—fueling the need to get him out.  _

**_Wake up._ **

_ Red footprints led the way, but no one followed. Turning—turning to look—to see why—why did he stop following behind…? A small child bent over two forms on the floor, sleeping. The glass crackled when knees collapsed beside them. A woeful shriek from the one he was saving, snapping him into the realization that—  _

**_Wake up._ **

_ Their hands were curled. _

**_Wake up._ **

_ Clutching nothing. They curled into an ethereal shape—inhumane, unreal. Blinking furiously, their skin was coated with a bluish tint, elbows tightly bent. A quiet kiss goodbye turned into crying—flight turned into murder. _

**_“You did this.”_ **

* * *

“Wake up—Segi!” 

Brown doe eyes shot open, gaping into the still darkness of the backseat—his own breath coming out ragged and retching. He gripped his chest—the feeling of being strangled. He clenched his teeth, but the air was blocked further—trying to breathe, he couldn’t—he couldn’t  _ breathe _ . 

“Segi, can you hear me?”

Hands were shaking him—they grabbed his shoulders and forced him up. His head was tipped back, pressed against the headrest. His bangs fell away from his forehead, a few strands still sticking there. All he could hear was the rushing in his ears, muffled words...his own struggling gasps. Air—it somehow was getting through to his lungs. Slowly, it was easier—slowly, he could see the roof of the car, eyes focusing on the tan fabric like it would hold together his ruptured mind. One sound lacking—a missing hiss from the background. 

“Rain…” he panted, “—it’s not raining? Why...why isn’t it raining?” His chest heaving, he took gulps of air, tears squeezing out of his eyes and running down his cheeks. Eunha pulled out her flashlight and shone a bright light into his eyes, but he barely seemed to register it.

“No, it hasn’t rained in a week,” she answered, checking his pupil reflexes. They shrunk to nothing, which didn’t explain anything to her at all. “Tell me, what year is it?” She put a hand over his that was gripping his chest, trying to feel what was going on, but without being able to check properly, she was useless. Barely hiding her own concern, she resorted to the basics. 

“...Year?” He turned his head, looking at her breathlessly, mouth open, eyes bleary. He strained them shut and more tears collapsed. “2020.”

“Good. What’s your name?” 

“J-Jin Segi.” Breathe. 

“How old are you?”

“32.” 

“Where do you work?”

“PSY…” Breathe.

“What does that stand for?”

“FantaStorY.” Breathe.

“Good. Favorite food?” 

“Ramen.”

“Really? Your favorite food is ramen? You’re rich and that’s your choice?” 

“Just...just because someone’s rich doesn’t mean it...tastes any less delicious.” He stared at her, embarrassment clear in his voice, no longer as rough around the edges. The tide of his panic attack seemed to be subsiding.

“...Ah, there you are.” Eunha smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately and collapsing into the seat next to him, relief resting on her features. “Where’d you go…?”

“...can’t remember.” He rubbed the wetness out of his eyes. “Where are we?” 

“We’re at a motel. I got a room under my name, but... I’m starting to think you need to go to a hospital.” Eunha looked at him carefully, searching for his reaction while also touching where the bandages were underneath the hoodie. A persistent fever could mean it was infected or it could mean he had just overexerted himself from the fire. There were so many factors, but so many more dangers. 

“Why are you saying that now?” He sounded more spent than anything else—an unreadable response. 

“Your condition…” She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence she started and sat there for a second, feeling the rise and fall of his stomach. Instead of continuing, she simply gave up on herself and got out of the car, bending over him. When her hand pulled away, he turned his eyes up at her with an incredulous look. 

“Is it bad?” He glanced down at the area and lifted up his shirt to hold in place with his chin. The bandage was leaking, but didn’t give any alarming indications to him, but what did he know? He didn’t even know why he kept having these nightmares every time he slept... 

“I’m worried about the fever...”

“I don’t think I’ll go,” he concluded. “Is that okay?” 

“...you’re not going to threaten me again?” 

“Why would I do that?” He huffed and gave her a pained look. “Are we going in?”

“Let’s get some sleep—if you’re not improving, I’m taking you to the hospital.” 

“Scary.”

“I’ll take that as you agreeing.” Eunha wasn’t sure what to make of Segi—whether he really was innocent or not, but one thing she was sure of was he didn’t seem to fit the description he was being given. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but killing all those people? He seemed more like a victim than anything else—to her at least. Eunha reached onto the floor and grabbed the medical kit she had brought with them. In it was a pill bottle with painkillers. She dumped out a large dose of them for Segi who was long overdue. She retrieved a bottle of water from their stash and held it out to him until he took them from her with a nervous look. “These’ll help you sleep better, bring the fever down, and lower your pain levels.”

A chill ran down his spine when he thought of sleeping, but he wasn’t entirely sure of its origin and honestly was too tired to care. Shaking it off, he replied, “Yeah...hurts. Is there a 10 ½?”

“What?” 

“Nevermind.” He swallowed all the pills she had handed him and a few extra sips of water, but his stomach rejected the notion almost immediately. He froze, feeling a surge of nausea rocking in his gut. Before he could hold up a hand for a timeout, Eunha helped him up out of the car and locked the car door with a soft beep. He fell into the side of it, covering his mouth and shakily breathing through his palm. 

“We didn’t have anything you could take it with, sorry.” The doctor was visibly upset and didn’t seem to expect him to feel immediately sick, but then again, when was the last time he had eaten? His body was certainly lacking what it needed, and Segi should be lying supine with an IV in his arm right about now. All he could do was will it down. If he threw it up, he’d stay feverish and in pain. But eventually, his stomach seemed to settle and the alarms stopped going off in his eyes. They stumbled out into the night—it smelled like crushed, colorless autumn leaves. 

“...can you at least tell me your favorite food... so we’re even?” Segi broke the silence, taking a breath. “They’re going to think... you’re an accomplice anyway so...if you stay—”

“You’re giving me a choice now?” She stopped walking, which caused him to stop walking, and he turned to look at her—that cursed sly smile mocking her. His eyes though—even in the dark she could see how much pain he was still in. And his weight leaning into her was heavy enough for her to tell that he was barely making it to the doors. Yet, despite all this, he had the time to joke? Was this the kind of person he was? “French toast.” 

“Pffft!” He abruptly choked, holding his abdomen with a strangled sound that turned into a cough. He really wanted to laugh. “...Y-you made fun of me for ramen...and then give me a breakfast food…!” He forced out the words with what little air he had and pushed on toward the front doors.

“You!!” 

They had to go up a few stairs to get inside where they were met with an infinitely long hallway, numbers above every door. While he was looking at them, they started blurring together into different shapes, his head doing cartwheels. He stopped for a second, trying to keep it together, but he felt himself slipping away.

Eunha took on more of his weight, not surprised the medication was already taking effect. After a short rest, she roused him to start moving again. He was slumped into her, but at least alert enough to put one foot in front of the other. They definitely weren’t making it if she had to drag him again. 

Segi felt himself being taken down the long, bright halls that smelled of must, eyes blurred in hazy relief that someone else was holding him up because he didn’t have anything left anymore. He kept fading out and coming back every few seconds, squinting at the lights and feeling as though his limbs were made solely out of lead. 

Segi didn’t remember getting into the room or slur-fighting Eunha for the bed closest to the door so he could ‘protect her,’ as he affirmed. He also didn’t remember convincing her to share it with him, (since she was being so stubborn). And, most of all, he didn’t remember holding her hand as he drifted off, anchoring her there. 


	4. Best of Me

Eunha lurched awake at the sound of glass breaking. At first, she was sure the police had found them and were already breaking the windows to get in. The motel was just one floor so it wasn’t a crazy conclusion to draw, but… When her eyes flew to the window, nothing was broken or displaced at all. In the dim, curtain-drawn lighting, she saw the blue glow of a cell phone stirring up the hazy morning hue. It was Segi’s that she had left sitting on the bruised table last night—this morning. 

She went to rub her blurry eyes, sleepily realizing her hand was still intertwined with Segi’s. She felt his body heat soaking into her—whether from the fever or because they had spent the whole night in the same bed. She lay there for a minute...two…knowing that this feeling of closeness was short-lived—that he would eventually wake up and they would separate again—that he was wanted and on the run...with her in tow, supposedly against her will. She was reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth, but also felt the need to figure out what that sound was that had woken her. 

She gently pulled her hand out of his, padding over to the phone on the table and bending over the preview text that so willingly revealed itself to her. It was an accident. She wasn’t snooping—must be an older model is all… Yet to her frustration, all it read was: “.” and that was all. It was 8:00 AM on the dot. 

Had that breaking glass sound come from his phone? What a weird text tone, but she honestly wouldn’t put it past anyone. People used all sorts of strange alarms or vibration patterns to elicit their own attention. But glass, really? Maybe it was an inside joke with the person? However, she also happened to notice it was an unrecognized number—kinda weird. Spam? Regardless, no amount of glass shattering was going to work on him today. Medicated sleep was a whole nother animal. 

* * *

The sheets felt like newspapers. He rolled over. No, they felt like cardboard, but more bendable. They were rough—the kind of rough that all sorts of hair would static onto. The thoughts warped together. His sheets were supposed to be silk so this didn’t make sense. The pillow felt like a sponge and it was hard—not his pillow. Rggh! He opened his eyes to an unfamiliar, spinny ceiling. He noticed water stains—brown. He closed his eyes. They hurt. Even shut, his eyelids felt so heavy. Uncomfortable, he opened them again and noticed springs were digging into his spine like boney, jabby fingers, pointing blame vicariously at him. He shuddered and dazedly turned his head to stare at the window shade blocking the outside world from his view. What was out there? Beneath his hoodie, he touched clean bandages, a dull ache underneath. He felt the heat from his own skin and groaned, shutting his eyes again. By this point, his hair was everywhere—the pieces touching his face, greasy like shined up black leather. He didn’t have the energy to do anything—the demanding, nagging, teeth-grinding ache getting vibrant and blinding, piercingly clutching his insides and staking claim over them. It’s name? Pain.

“Good morning!” Perched over his prone form was Eunha with a gleeful, rested smile. He squinted his only open eye at her and rolled over to face the wall, trying to escape the commotion dripping off her. “What’s this cold shoulder? Last night you even made me sleep with you.” He spun back around on his elbows, showing visible distress from the jarring movement. 

“I what.”

“Don’t worry, nothing happened. How could it?” She motioned to his clear signs of strain. He didn’t even realize how hard he was clutching the sheets. “Feeling it, huh?” 

“Tch.” He showed his teeth, lip curling up in a grimace. 

“It can’t be helped. You’re not in the hospital where you belong.” Eunha turned away and went to the table, coming back to hand him pills that all looked different and more water to take them with. He furrowed his eyebrows with a pleading gesture. Hated pills. Hated them. 

“Last night…I can’t—”

“Oh, don’t worry!” She held up her hands in defense. “What I’m giving you now is different, but you’ll have to endure a bit; it won’t cut out everything you’re feeling. You still have a slight fever too. And antibiotics.”

“Got it.” He took them and drank the rest of the contents of the water bottle, lying back with an arm over his face. Eunha observed him for a second before going to the bathroom and opening cabinets and closets—anything she could find. Eventually, the opening and closing of doors got to him and Segi propped himself back up, calling in to her.

“What on earth...are you doing?”

“Well, you can’t take a shower, and we can’t have you looking like...well, a zombie.” 

“So that’s what you think of me?” 

“All you do is groan. You definitely smell like a charred corpse. And your coordination leaves a lot to be desired.” 

“Is that what a doctor should say to a patient?” Segi glared at her, but she was too busy getting the hot water ready from the bathtub. The loud flow of water penetrated the still quiet of the room. He watched her back, oddly fascinated with her movements and the water flowing over her hand. He’d blame it on the medication, but it was just him. 

“Come’re,” she beckoned, waving a hand at him. “Oh—can you?” Her long, bleached hair slipped over her shoulder when she turned to catch his eyes. Seeing him start to get up, she turned back to her work, taking a sample shampoo and setting it on the side of the tub. 

“What are you trying to do to me this time?” His voice was louder—closer. She could feel his presence next to her. 

“Sit down.” She patted the bathroom rug she had dragged over so his butt wouldn’t get cold on the tile. 

“?”

“With your back to the tub so we can try and not flood the bathroom. And take off your hoodie.” 

The cold plastic felt both good and frigid on his bare back. He pushed hair off his face and leaned back, trying to support his weight without using his ab muscles. The whole ordeal was difficult to finegal, but the promise of hot water was worth it. 

He felt her hand carding through his hair and the water followed shortly after, first tickling his scalp before becoming fully saturated. He let his eyes slip shut, blissfully at ease in the moment. He felt her hand blocking the water from his eyes so the shampoo wouldn’t burn them. For a while, the water ran clean through his hair and he nearly dozed off. 

“Do you use conditioner?”

“Hm?”

“I wasn’t sure...like, if guys use conditioner too or not. Some might. I wouldn’t get a brush through mine if I didn’t.”

“I don’t, usually.” A pause. “Haven’t been around guys much, huh?” 

W-what?! What was that—a shot at her? When she was helping him like this? The nerve of this guy! Wrong, wrong move. Armed with the shower head and a playful smirk, she aimed the water at his face without warning. 

“Mmff!!”

The water immediately submerged him, parting around his nose so he could still breathe, but... He blubbered under the steady stream of water, not hiding the immediate shock that he was just waterboarded by his hostage. 

When she finally stopped trying to drown him, he blindly grabbed at the showerhead and managed to turn it ever-so-slightly right back at her. Eunha shrieked, letting go of the grip she had on it. She tried to jump away, but the water pressure wasn’t having it. She was now sopping wet, standing there, deflated, with no change of clothes. She burst into absurd laughter. 

Segi stared at her for second in surprise, not expecting that kind of reaction, mainly because he never encountered any kind of situation like this before. He let the showerhead hang down towards the tub floor and slowly raised his eyes back up at her just in time to be splashed in the side of the face with a kick of dirty tub water that hadn’t drained yet. The floor was now wet. Segi didn’t hesitate when he pointed the showerhead right back at her, an if-you-stop-I’ll-stop look written in his steady eyes. Eunha kicked another mini tidal wave of bathwater at him, and his jaw nearly dropped. He unsteadily picked himself up off the floor and stalked towards her, backing her up to the shower wall—her clothes sapping against the off-white tiles—her eyes teeming with something he couldn’t place. 

“Let’s stop this,” he said tiredly, hair dripping water down to collect on his bare shoulders. He held her in place for a moment with his close presence. 

After a couple beats, he broke the tension by turning around, heart racing in his throat—why he wasn’t sure. She grabbed the back of his wrist, careful to avoid his thumb and bandages and pulled him back even closer, searching his bewildered expression and finding only distant confusion and apprehension. 

A moment passed studying each other.

“Let’s get you dry.” 

“...You’re the one who’s soaked.” 

In response, she pointed down at his feet with her eyes, looking back up at him. His pant legs were completely submerged. He rolled his eyes back up to rejoin her gaze, looking agitated and uncomfortable that he was practically standing in what felt like sewage water, wearing his only pair of pants. How could he not have noticed? An odd numbness was spreading through him, and the mere sight of the filth-stained tub he had just been leaning against made his stomach squeeze. It was a lucid and cruel reminder of how far he had fallen from his usual penthouse suite. 

“Just roll up your pant legs for now.” Eunha pulled off her dress shirt and threw it on the sink where it elicited a disgusting fwap sound. Underneath it, her white tank top was also soaked through, showing the defined outlines of her black bra. She didn’t seem to notice or care—it wasn’t a big deal. 

But Segi did. He tried to scramble out of the tub so quickly he nearly slipped on the floor. He disguised it by bending down to wring out his sopping pant legs. What was with her? She had zero regard for herself. Then again, he had been the one to put her in that state in the first place—what, was he expecting her to keep wearing her soaking wet clothes? He shook his head. It was a mess. It was all a mess. 

The doctor didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment outwardly, but she had still seen it and found it incredibly funny. One moment he was backing her up against the wall predatorily—seductively and in the next, he was acting like he’d never seen a girl in her underwear. She had to admit though, the situation was a bit risque. Yet, she was the victim here!

Before he realized it, a towel was flung over Segi’s head followed by a torrent of rubbing. Pulled out of his thoughts, he reached up his hands only to be swatted away. When he was eventually freed, he looked up at her with bent eyebrows, a stained towel thrown into a flooded corner. Wavy curls of black hair dangled every which way, masking his face and casting shadows over his dubious expression. 

“Did you even notice how much you’re shivering?” She asked. Segi blinked in response, watching her discover a blow dryer on a bottom shelf and start loudly drying his hair the rest of the way, cutting off any objections. He sat there, partly in surprise, partly in incoherence. 

When next he realized what was happening, he was sitting in the bed against the wall, head back and eyes closed. He looked around and heard the blow dryer still going in the bathroom. He felt down his legs and noticed they were mostly dry and he had his hoodie back on. She must be trying to dry her clothes now. Clothes. It was a problem that a first-time-criminal-on-the-run hadn’t factored into his escape. With narrowed eyes, he looked around in thought, but didn’t arrive at any genius plans short of simply going to a store and buying more. 

“Hey,” he called. No answer. She didn’t hear him. “HEY.” 

“Yeah?” The door opened, the blow dryer stopped, and just her head peaked out. It was clear she was still only partly clothed. Segi ignored this fact. 

“You tricked me.” 

“Wha—oh.”

“It’s the same as last night—you said it was different.” 

“Feeling a bit out of it?” She shifted her weight behind the door, thinking about what to say next, but he continued. 

“My head is spinning and I can’t even think.” 

“But how’s the pain? What I said was true. It won’t cut it all out, but we really need to keep it under control, and sadly, there’re side effects that come with it. Your body will get used to them.”

Segi exhaled loudly and shut his eyes, the fight he was trying to put up was already dead in him. He was sick of her tricking him, but another thought occurred to him: she hadn’t abandoned him all this time. She easily could have—just sedate him and go—report him and play victim. 

“We need to get clothes,” he exasperated, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet stacked with an amount of cash no normal person would carry on their person. He hazily stared at his credit cards trying to understand why, the thought dully blinking through his head until the slow realization formed that it was because he couldn’t use them. Disgust formed at his current incompetence.

“I can run out,” she said, watching him mindlessly stare at his wallet. “Hold on.”

A moment later, she came back out wearing her damp clothes. She bent over him with a concerned expression and felt his forehead again, taking his pulse, and finally sitting down beside him. For a second, Segi didn’t notice she was there and then slowly turned his head in recognition. She knew he was attempting to figure out how much to give her and potentially was going to give her instructions of some kind, but she could see the intent halted when it had hit the wall brought on by the medication moving through his system. 

“You need to sleep more.” She uncomfortably shifted on the bed and reached for his wallet. She didn’t have much cash left herself...or her cellphone—her parents were probably sick with worry over her ghosting everyone after the fire. She froze at the sudden thought. They could even be looking for her body. She’d have to do something about that without risking Segi getting caught...somehow. She pushed the twinge of worry off for later. 

For now, she took out a few bills, eyeing him for any signs of approval or disapproval, but he only seemed to register that she was taking the money out, not much else. There was a clothing outlet she had seen down the street off the exit...she could run in and get them some fresh clothes. She needed his size though, but wasn’t sure how much more she was going to get out of him at this point. Well, she’d just have to guess! 

“I’m going to go—you’ll be okay?” She touched his arm and he opened his glassy eyes. “Hey. You’ll be okay while I’m gone?”

“Are you…coming back?”

“You kidding me? Give me twenty minutes; I won’t be picky. Just don’t tease me for what I pick out.”

* * *

  


The clothing store was...not her cup of tea—too... hibiscus. It felt overly colorful for her, but she _had_ seen women her age dressing this way—just maybe she was so used to picking out plain colors to go under her white coat that she had lost her passion for the bubbly and bright. Hmm, this rediscovery could be good for her, actually. After picking out a few different shirts, jeans, and enough underwear to last a bit, she moved on to the men’s section, which was a stark difference. Talk about blues—an earl grey kinda feel. It suited the image she had of Jin Segi in her head, which was oddly satisfying. Grabbing up some grey; white; and black shirts, some way-too-soft earthy toned sweaters, a black designer hoodie (plain this time), some dark jeans, a hat, and face masks, she could only pray everything would fit him. Quickly paying in cash, Eunha didn’t waste time heading back to the motel (and maybe even went a little over the speed limit). 

When she came in, Segi was staring spacily at the TV, the sound of a reporter’s voice coming through the speakers. 

“Bin Eunha, suspected of being Jin Segi’s latest captive, is still missing. She was last seen leaving Severance Hospital following a fire that aided in his escape. It was thought to have been set by an accomplice and handcuffs were found removed in the ICU. Investigation is still underway. We just got word from the National Police Agency, after being missing for over 24 hours, Jin Segi is now wanted nationally. The detectives have gone public with the case, expanding the search area outside of Seoul.” Eunha’s hospital headshot was displayed on screen next to Segi’s. A scene of the two of them leaving the hospital from the parking lot surveillance camera was shown next. Her license plate number was spelled out clearly on the bottom of the screen with a number to text for sightings. It was only a matter of time, and she had just taken her car out. She clapped a hand over her mouth and dropped the bags, running over to Segi and putting herself in front of him. 

“What should we do?” Tears welled up in her eyes, reality growling at her. She was no longer just helping someone; she was aiding and abetting a crime. She raced back to the bags and grabbed a black hat, flopping it on top of his head, looking around the room like someone was watching them. They were going to find them. She felt eyes burning on her back. Was this worth it—was helping him worth putting her whole future at risk—everything she had worked for? Her parents... Everything she did had felt right at the time—even now. She hadn’t needed to think it through before acting because leaving him seemed like a worse crime. 

“Relax.” Segi took off the black hat and looked at it, letting loose a small smile to reassure her. “No one can see us right now; I don’t need to wear this inside.” Odd laughter in his voice, he put the hat down and turned down the volume on the TV, massaging his temples. The loudness made his head pound. In the background, the reporter carried on, Eunha absorbing it.

“Says the one on drugs,” she murmured, attention elsewhere. 

“Whose fault is that?” He stammered from his place on the bed, pausing for a moment. “I’m just saying there’s no point in panicking.” Blinking slowly, he finally turned to look at her straight on, sweat forming on his brow from trying to keep his composure. He felt like he was going to be sick. He wanted to throw the lamp that was next to him at the wall and curse at the sky, but he knew it wouldn’t save him. He knew the only one who could save him was standing right in front of him with worry staining her chestnut eyes—worry now for herself. He held onto her gaze like a lifeline in the midst of ruin. It felt like it was all a bad joke, but the reporter in the background seemed to know more about his life than he ever did. He was a criminal and Eunha was a hostage. Apparently, he had also kidnapped someone he didn’t even know—hadn’t even met—the man at the warehouse. Segi had blown up his beloved mall and killed 43 people. He was a terrorist. He was a murderer. He was a fugitive. He was—

“Are you hearing me? I said you got a text. Is there anyone you think would believe you that we can contact for help? We can’t use my car anymore and we need to prove that you’re innocent. Can you remember anything about what happened? They are saying you set a bomb in a warehouse? Is it true that you have experience in the military?”

Hah, they were even digging that up about him? Of course, voluntarily enlisting for more than the required two years could turn some heads. Ah wait, what had been the name he’d made for himself? He could barely remember; it was so long ago. 

“Yeah,” he said without thinking about his answer, still fixated on remembering the nickname. Jo would know it, since he had met him shortly after he had come back from Iraq. A mess, aimless, and at his lowest point, he remembered sharing stories with the man he would later hire as his secretary. Funny, how he couldn’t remember the details now—time was crazy. 

If Segi were to drag someone—anyone into this with him, it would be Jo. There was only one person in all his life that really knew him—that he could trust to help him. “Mm, Jo. I could contact Jo, my secretary—did he text me?” It felt like his brain was operating slowly in a deep, moist fog and all he wanted to do was flop over, curl up, and fall back asleep. It was an even more foreign feeling to him being an insomniac and having always struggled with falling asleep. He’d always wake up in a panic, drenched in sweat—a heart-hammering, wrenching feeling in his gut he couldn’t ever place. He was always better off focusing on the next project rather than enduring another night trauma. 

“I don’t know. It was weird. The number was unregistered and the message was just a period.”

“What?” He was pulled out of his thoughts and had to suddenly catch back up with the conversation he was attempting to hold. What were they talking about—a period? 

Without answering, Eunha moved from her spot hovering by the TV to the table where his phone was and brought it over to him. Segi took it from her and while still staring at the news behind her, tapped in the passcode without glancing down. Eunha noted what the numbers were, but shortly rejoined his gaze back on the TV. 

The news started droning on about his lack of family life and Segi finally pried his eyes away from it to look down at the unlocked phone. Sure enough, there was a text message from a number he didn’t recognize. Hm. It wasn’t from Jo. Nothing from anyone else either. He dug through the contents on it, seeing a red notification bubble over the email icon. He opened it, looking distractedly back at the reporter who was currently describing his nitty gritty history growing up in foster care. The horror. He growled under his breath, feeling even more frustrated by how enraptured by the report Eunha also seemed. 

“Don’t watch that,” he said. “It’s not like that.” Not having parents didn’t suddenly create a criminal. The stereotypes never applied to him—or most people for that matter. He was successful… He—he had been successful... “Someone’s playing a game with my life,” he said almost to himself, looking down at his hands and back at the email by default. (no subject), the blank line read, but when he tapped on it, he found a video attached to the body of the wordless message. 

“Your clothes must still be wet...are you going to get changed?” He glanced upward from the phone, meeting her eyes, which looked fairly surprised and were brimming with tears he couldn’t understand. It was an expression he had never seen before on a person. A small smile flitted onto her lips and she turned away, wiping at her eyes, and moving towards the discarded shopping bags to piece through them. Selecting an outfit, she disappeared out of sight to put them on.

Ugh, finally. Segi let himself fall to the side that his wound wasn’t on, drawing up his knees, and shutting his heavy eyes. Almost immediately he fell into some pseudo-sleep, still hearing the matter-of-fact voice of the reporter telling him his life’s story like he was drowning underwater and didn’t care. It was relaxing. 

When Eunha came back out to grab the underwear she’d forgotten, she found Segi already unconscious. She took the opportunity to steal his phone and slink back into the bathroom, turning the shower on to drown out her voice.

“Mom? Yes, I’m okay! Listen to me very carefully. Don’t tell ANYONE I called you, okay? ...you—you can tell dad, but no one else. He didn’t take me as a hostage. No, Segi is innocent. No. No— I’m telling you it’s all fake. It isn’t true. Stockholm syndrome? Don’t give me that! The evidence can’t be real and we need to prove that. Yes, _we_. I know what they’re saying. I just watched it, but it can’t be true. Trust me, he didn’t do it. I’m okay. Yes, I’m okay. I gotta go. I’ll be careful. Okay, love you, bye.” Eunha sighed when she hung up, looking at her shadow in the foggy mirror like it was another her she didn’t recognize. Her mom sounded like a wreck on the other line, but she had to be strong. She felt like her emotions were being meticulously scraped out of her with a scalpel, but she knew what she needed to do—and that was be there for Segi. If she left him, there was a large chance he could get really sick, and he would never be able to prove his innocence. Showing that reporter she was wrong would also prove to Eunha that she was right—that she had made the right choice. It also meant she wouldn’t go to jail... 

She took Segi’s phone back to him, tossing it next to him on the bed where he lay curled up on rumpled sheets she had also slept on the previous night. It seemed surreal—sleeping next to a man she barely knew—a man that supposedly was a criminal—a man who was injured to this extent. She gently lifted his hoodie to check the bandages, which looked alright for the time being. He still felt warm, and his pulse was slower than she’d like. She felt okay to leave him, trodding back into the bathroom to take a much deserved shower and to wash off the cold of her damp clothes and unfallen tears. 

* * *

“—working that afternoon. The employee said she paid in cash and looked rushed. She bought both female and male clothes, suspected of being for Jin Segi.”

At his name, he woke with a start, bleary eyes struggling to focus on the faint glow of the TV screen still showing the news. Not much time had passed. He heard water running in the background, but tuned it out to try and hear better, not realizing he could just turn the volume up. 

“Here is a video of the vehicle’s plate caught on a speed camera. She was going fast—we aren’t sure why, but being on the run tends to _accelerate_ things.” Faint laughter from the cohost. “Currently, investigation is still underway at the scene and we will bring you updates as we get them.”

He sat there in shocked silence for a moment, only part of his mind understanding that they had to go. Now. The other part was still trying to digest it, while knowing that they had to go. Now. He crawled to the side of the bed, head whirling at the movement, and forced himself to his feet, rapping on the bathroom door when he should instead be running out the front. 

“Eunha,” he called, panicked. The water wasn’t running anymore so he expected her to hear him even though his voice came out weak and shaking. There was a pause and the door opened along with a sheen of water vapor. Her hair was wet and she wouldn’t have time to blow dry it despite the cold weather. “We have to go. Now.” He repeated verbatim his inner dialogue, eyes darting to the TV, phone desperately clutched in his uninjured hand. 

“What do you mean?” She looked frightened now, and didn’t take the time to affirm what she suspected on the TV. Instead, she grabbed the bags of clothes, the medical kit, and his elbow because he looked like he was going to pass out. His face was so pale. “Hey,” she said. “We’re going—let’s go.”

Segi nodded. But where? Where could they go? He didn’t even know where they were—what town or city they were in. They couldn’t take the car either. But none of that mattered because they had to run. 

* * *

The air was so cold from up high, whipping him so hard that he teetered on the edge of falling into those city lights—shining fiercely like a sea of hungry people below—abated sharks. It was so quiet, save for the slapping sound of wind against his ears, pricking lobes with the feeling of coming winter. His toes wiggling in his boots—last movements before— It hurt so deeply— Looking back with regret seemed like a satire. Looking down felt like hope—hope that it would end—hope that the dreads of existence would be severed like a fishing line, freeing him in oblivion. His mind was toiling—rolling in the height at which he towered over his own fate, looking down upon the plummet—upon the end. 

* * *

Panting— he couldn’t. Segi couldn’t catch his breath. He fell into a mailbox he didn’t really see, feeling half-blind. He slid down the side of it and buried his head in his hands, feeling the bite of cold sweat against his unbandaged palm. He couldn’t imagine how cold Eunha must be. Where was she? He didn’t have the energy to look up—wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. He drifted for a moment, ratcheted breaths making his lungs feel like he was inhaling fire. 

Someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes and struggled to focus on her, wet hair tickling his cheek. Her lips were moving, but he wasn’t registering the words. He felt even colder when the hoodie he was wearing was lifted up and fingers were touching the bandages there, peeling them back briefly and then sticking them back on. 

“Shit. We need to get you off the street. We can’t stay here.” It vaguely sounded frantic, but everything was a blur—so bright with pain. He started to fade out again and heard an alarming tone in her voice…

* * *

He gasped and opened his eyes. Pain. He writhed to the side, grasping at the bandages, gritting his teeth and looking up in the direction of a figure. It was Eunha who was writing something. She immediately dropped the pen she was holding and bent down to him, touching his cheek. 

“Segi,” she said, “you’re in pain.” She seemed to look even more closely at him, but he turned his head away, pushing closer against…? It was a mailbox. Was she mailing a letter? He was confused. Weren’t they—? They were running. Shit. They were running. He came back to his senses, snapping his head back in her direction with wide eyes, and righting himself.

“S-shit,” he sputtered, holding himself and breathing through his teeth, spots dancing in the sides of his vision like black contrasting snow.   
  
“How bad is it? You didn’t pull the stitches too badly, but… Can you stand?” They had to get somewhere else. Eunha tossed the fake letter she had been writing to disguise their odd presence into a nearby trash can. It would be suspicious to take a break in the middle of the sidewalk under any other circumstances—people would look. If they looked, they could get caught. She adjusted the hat that had been hastily thrown onto Segi’s head, and pulled the hood down further to conceal his face. 

“...not bad,” he lied, pretending he hadn’t just passed out a few times from the pain. Eunha gave him a look and lifted the medical kit over her shoulder. He really shouldn’t be moving around let alone running, but… by now, the city was likely crawling with detectives. Down the street was a bus stop. If they could make it there, Segi could rest on it until the final stop—then at least they’d be far enough away maybe? 

“Can you make it to the bus stop?”

He nodded and she helped him up. He wasn’t in good shape, but still spared her a half-smile with his parted lips. They tried to look normal as they made it to the bus stop, but she knew any prying eyes would’ve guessed otherwise. Luckily, it wasn’t a busy street. She settled him down between the scratched up, musky plastic and a billboard advertisement for Vodka, studying the map to try and come up with a plan. The buses destination was for Busan.

* * *

By the time they were nearing the last stop, it was dark and quiet on the bus. Everyone seemed sleepy—caught in the travel blues with muddled self-contemplations taking priority over conversation. The city lights outside beamed through the windows as they passed. Everyone had somewhere to go, moving about on their way—their own tasks—hopes, dreams, and futures ahead. They filtered out with their luggage, briefcases, backpacks, and things, eventually leaving the bus sparse with just the weary leftovers who were eager to get to their destinations. 

Eunha was also becoming lost in her own thoughts. She turned to Segi to alert him that they were about to reach the last stop. Oh, Busan: one of her favorite cities—the second largest in South Korea. It was laid back, filled to the brim with bustling people, beaches, hot springs, and fun places to go. Briefly, she wondered about the international film festival that was held here each fall, but since she didn’t know much else, it fell away as she watched Segi’s sleeping face no longer lined with pain. 

He had spent the whole ride sleeping—it was normal, but lonely. She had prescribed him an extra dose of painkillers to put him under and mute the sharp symptoms he was experiencing. It worked as it should, but… She turned to gaze out the window past Segi, watching the reflections shimmer softly. Absentmindedly, she touched his cheek, lightly rousing him. 

The faux velvet of the neon bus seats was soft to the touch. Segi ran his hands along it—one of them couldn’t feel anything... Coming to, he lifted the left side of his lip and let his head loll in that direction. The window was freezing against his face. He groaned and tried to get away from it, but a warmth gripped him. He went to deliriously struggle, but opened his eyes and saw Eunha laughing at him. 

“You were petting the seat.” 

It took him a second to translate her words into understanding. He moved his hands again along the seat as if to repeat the action and determine that it had in fact happened in reality. He made a concerned expression and gave a sigh as his answer. 

“We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

“We took a bus to Busan. Don’t you remember?” 

“Not really.” He massaged his temples where a dull throb intensified behind his eyes. He wanted to just sleep more, but knew he didn’t have the luxury. “Mm...tired.”

“I know. It’s okay.” She put a hand on his shoulder to encourage him. He’d need to tap into his energy reserves because they’d have to walk 0.3 miles once they got off, according to his GPS. “Listen,” she paused until she had his focus, “I know a place we can go. It’s my best friend’s summer suite.” She looked auspiciously to the side and up at the bus ceiling. Back to him. “I know where she keeps her key and I don’t think they’ll find us.”

Segi’s expression had changed. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back, and holding them off his forehead for a second. “Thank you,” he said without looking at her, “for not abandoning me.” He turned then, his reflective dark eyes looking lost.

She smiled. “I don’t know why I believe you. I mean…” She trailed off, laughing. He seemed like he was in less pain, no one was chasing them, and they were headed someplace that was familiar to her—it almost felt like she was going on a vacation all considering. It felt nicer to think that way anyway. 

* * *

  
  


“Canft yew trak thish?” 

Segi grabbed the key out of her mouth, slightly horrified she didn’t just hand it to him to begin with, having had put it in her mouth instead of giving him something to hold for her. He slid it into the keyhole and pushed the handle down. It clicked open. Alarm beeps started screeching, making his heart race and his head swim with what usually followed that sound—it was never anything good. Eunha dashed in, dropping bag after bag behind her. She raced to the control panel that was to the side of the door and typed in numbers he didn’t care to decipher. 

“Well this is it!” She flipped the control panel’s plastic cover back closed and turned to Segi who was standing displaced in the doorway. “There’s even an elevator that goes up to the top floor and there’s a patio on the roof. It’s beautiful at night. I know you’re tired though so maybe tomorrow n—” 

“We aren’t here to sightsee.” He crashed her excitement, but had a regretful look on his face in doing so. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see it—it was just—it would probably be the last thing he saw before the police took him away. He quickly changed the subject. “Let me get out of this cursed EMT hoodie.” 

“Please,” she said, getting a glare. She laughed and tossed him a bag with a pair of sweatpants, another hoodie, some underwear, and a shirt. “I went big because I didn’t know your size and you were drooling on the bed so don’t be mad.” 

“Anything is better than what I’m wearing.” He gave a small smile, falling into step with her antics and forgetting for a moment that he was a wanted fugitive. 

* * *

He laid on the bed, phone in hand. For some reason, he couldn’t get it to open _again_ —what the hell? Did the passcode only work sometimes? After his 11th attempt, he gave up and threw it on the bed. He wanted to know what that video had been in his inbox. He death-glared the object from where it innocently sat on the bed. Breaking the tension, Eunha burst in and sat uninvitedly on the bed next to him, glancing at the phone. 

“It’s 4-2-2-7—what, you have too many to remember?” She joked, picking it up and unlocking it. “There’s a charger in the other room we can use—I guess it’s okay if they aren’t able to track us.” She turned and looked more discerningly at him. “Do you feel okay—having any issues with memory?” 

He shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “No. Just that.” He took the phone from her and tapped through to the email. He glanced up. “Are you just going to watch me all night?” 

“No, I just came to change your bandages.” Despite his ornery change in his attitude, she was glad to see his personality was coming out more, though it wasn’t what she’d expect persay.

“Ah.” He continued scrolling through the list of emails in case he missed anything. She reached over to his side and lifted up his new hoodie and shirt, but he immediately pulled away from her with a look. “W-what are you doing?”

“I told you I’m changing your bandages. I need to get to them.” 

He seemed to calm down when realization hit him, feeling embarrassed, but reluctantly letting her take care of him. He distracted himself with the phone by tapping play on the video. 

* * *

A surprise of water was abruptly dumped over the captive’s head, matting his dyed—once manicured hair all over his face. His pores were screaming. He could smell his own stench, but the leering shock of cold wetness masked his aversion. He didn’t dare open his eyes, letting the prickly wail of splinters from the ropes tear into his wrists and ground him desperately in the moment. He was still alive. 

He was still alive. 

He knew the figure was hovering over him—the sound of the bucket dropping to the ground made chills run fervently up and down his spine like fleeing mice. He ground his teeth together, not caring if he’d never chew again—as long as—as long as— 

He was still alive.

The figure was walking away. He opened his eyes after his back, seeing the black attire he was wearing—a hood drawn over his head. There was a camera blinking at him—seeing him now. It had been turned on and it was recording. He cautiously raised his head higher, looking at it. He was grasping so hard for conclusions that his thoughts were ramming into each other. His hands started shaking. What did this mean? What did this recording mean for him?

He was still alive.

He swallowed back saliva that built up in his mouth, rushing sounds filling his ears—almost screaming with the intensity of just. Not. Knowing. The footsteps. One. Another. Another. It was almost a countdown for him finding out. Slow motion. He could see everything—eyes eating up the world because somehow he knew before the gun was even raised. 

His death would be on camera. 

The figure gripped the gun like he didn’t know how to hold it. He spent time fumbling with the safety, but the captive didn’t really know where it was—he didn’t know how much time it spared him until it clicked and was already passed. He took more gaping gasps of air, breathing—breathing the last, he knew. 

He was still alive.

The figure turned and having never said anything, raised the gun and cocked it. Everything collided into that sound—two worlds slammed together, cracking his mind apart. He felt the shocked pieces bleed into him—shards of sanity lost into the abyss he knew was coming through the barrel at him. He half-expected the trigger to be pulled now. Now. Now. He was going to die. He was not coming out of this anymore. This was his last time—this was his last thought. Now. Now. He was going to die. He was going to stop existing. The him that was here wouldn’t be anything anymore—it was real. It was so real. He was going to die. Oh god. Oh god he was going to die. He was actually going to— 

“You did this.” 

_Bang._

* * *

The voice sounded familiar. 

It was like Segi had been shot too. A strangled cry came from his mouth, hands flying to his head. The phone clattered to the ground, a black screen minimized back to the email screen. Pain—blinding pain in his head—his head. His head. Hisheadhishead. He couldn’t breathe— couldn’t—air. Breathe.

“SEGI!! _Breathe_!” 

He gasped, feeling like his lungs had collapsed. They were bent—something was crushing them. His chest so tight—he couldn’t. Wracked with sobs, he dragged in staggering breaths, nails digging into each one to keep himself alive. He didn’t even know how wet his face was when Eunha pulled him to her—barely felt her rubbing his back—didn’t see her terrified expression or feel her shaking from what she had also just seen: a man’s death shot on camera. 

“W-what’s your favorite food—talk to me.”

“Ssushi,” he coughed showing a display of so much pain. But what was that answer? 

“Why—why do you like sushi?”

“Because it’s raw. Uncooked.” His voice sounded raw also—different like his answer. Emotionless—like someone had flipped a switch on his tears. 

“Where do you work?”

“...” He gasped, trying to catch his breath—a spike of confusion. 

“What’s your job?” 

“I don’t…” He sucked in another shaky breath. “I don’t have one.” 

“You mean you don’t have one right now?” 

“No.”

“How old are you?”

“15.”

“What. What’s your name?” 

“Jarvey.”

“Stay here for me, Jarvey. I need to get something real quick. I’ll be back,” she reassured and bent down to gather the phone off the floor. She was glad for her many years of training that kept her voice calm and even during shocking and confusing situations. 

* * *

“Hello? Is this Jo? ...it is?! Oh, thank god. My name is Bin Eunha and I’m a physician...I’m with Jin Segi. Slow down—I can’t—“ A sob escaped her and she felt her knees buckle to the ground. She was pressing her hand so hard against her mouth that her teeth hurt. She had to hold it together. Tears were brimming out of her eyes. She stared at the carpet. “He’s with me. He’s alive, but— We need help. I don’t know—I don’t know what to do. And I don’t even know you, but— Please can you help us? There’s something wrong—I might need to take him to the hosp— No, he’s just _really_ confused. We just saw— I’ll tell you when you get here. The address? Yeah, hold on...” 

When she hung up after giving him the address, she had to take a moment. Sobs wracked her body. She knew she had to be there for Segi right now to try and calm him down too and bring him back to his senses, but she also couldn’t calm down. That was real—that _video was real_. She had barely finished rebandaging his stitches when she had seen the visage of a man in a chair, bound and gagged. His wrists were bloody and his head was dripping wet. There was another man wearing all black with a hood drawn over the back of his head. She saw the gun from behind—but she also saw— the blood spatter. The seconds of the body there until it cut out. The cold, chilling voice. 

There were so many questions—so, so many questions, but she knew there was no way she could know the answers. She didn’t care—she had to know. She had to know who that man was that she had just seen die. She had to know why Segi had that video—why—he was just so confused afterwards. Sushi? 15? Jarvey? He had had such a psychological shock that he reverted or? What _was_ that? He wasn’t okay. She stood up and half-ran out of the room. 

He wasn’t in the bed. 

She searched outside the door in the hallway and found his shoe, thinking he went outside and someone might have nabbed him. Was he arrested? She kept following the hallway to the stairs. The door was partially open. She saw another shoe on the platform above. She started running up. She knew. He was on the patio on the roof—to see the view? He was there—she had a feeling. Please be there! 

She barreled through the door and— 

* * *

He slowly turned to look at her—a lost, forlorn expression. His eyes were wet, but he wasn’t crying; he was smiling—a ghostly, thin smile that went no further than a twitch of the lips. 

He was standing on the railing.

His hoodie was billowing from the strong wind, raven hair whipping around in the gale. He didn’t look human—like he had come from another world—experienced things no one else had. She could almost feel herself leaving her body with shock. She slowly approached him with both of her hands held out, coaxing. 

“Segi,” she murmured, slow...slow…Calm down. Calm down.

He gave a sad smile and turned his head back, teetering towards the drop. He shut his eyes almost blissfully. Her heart was in her throat. She was going to lose him—NO. 

“Don’t do this...it’s not—it isn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, voice so airy it was as ephemeral as the wind—trying to become a part of it. It was as though he was already gone. She didn’t recognize him. No. No. NO. “I’m so—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“You’re so, what? It _does_ matter. Everything about you matters.”

“I’m so sorry.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to let the city lights below waft over him once more, drowning him in lives he didn’t lead. He couldn’t wait to fall into those stars—so many millions of different lives lit up as his burned out. 

“What are you sorry for? You did nothing wrong.” 

“It’s my fault they died. I don’t even know— I can’t remember what happened last. I’m so confused. Who—who are you?”

“Why don’t you come down and I’ll tell you. Come to me. I’ll tell you my name and how you know me. It’ll be okay just come to me, here.” She held out her arms, trying to smile through her tears she barely registered. “You have to prove that you’re innocent—that it isn’t your fault.” What did he do. Did he do something? Is that why he was up here—because he had actually done it? Was he really the culprit? Why was he _so_ confused? “Segi...” She drew nearer to him. 

“I’m not—” He looked down and shifted the tips of his bare feet over the edge—off the railing, waiting. It was so beautiful—so beautiful until the morning came. 

“You’re not...?” 

“It doesn’t matter. Goodbye, whoever you are.” 

“NO WAIT.” Eunha moved forward and his eyes met her for the first time. Immediately, she knew what he was going to say. 

He wasn’t Segi. 

Who the hell was this? His expression was so deep and yet so... _gone_. So much was communicated in his look it silenced her, gluing her feet stationary—like he had bewitched her, paralyzing her legs. He wanted this. He actually, truly wanted this. What should—what should she do? She didn’t know what she could say, but he was listening. 

“I...I don’t want to lose you!” 

He looked puzzled, but turned back to the drop like it was drawing him into its void—doing him a kind favor. The heavy wind made him reluctantly shift his weight to avoid falling—he’d hate to hurt someone because of this, but he thought— 

“Who are you?” He asked again, this time sounding more demanding, towering over her. 

“Eunha. And you’re injured.” It occurred to her. She had given him a very large dose of painkillers earlier on the bus. One of the side effects was… “I’m your doctor and—” He continued to look through her. “—your friend.” Maybe he was experiencing a delusion. 

“Friend?” He bit his lip and completely looked down at the ground many stories below, hanging a foot freely over. He wanted to go, but what he was hearing sounded so alien that it was just as intriguing. 

“Yeah we went through a lot together— see your thumb?”

He looked at it. 

“You broke it yourself getting out of handcuffs.” Anything—she needed anything to latch onto to jog his memory or trigger a change in his state of mind. Anything. 

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed and without warning let himself fall.

Eunha almost wasn’t close enough to grab hold of his hood. She immediately dropped all of her weight backwards. They both fell, Segi landing on top of her. She caught herself with an arm, scraping her skin on the rough cement, but all she cared about now was that he was safe and alive. She grabbed him and held onto his arms with everything she had. She wasn’t going to let go. 

“I won’t let you go.”

“Why…” His voice shook—his entire body was shaking. He was sobbing in hysterics now. “Why. WHY can’t I even choose my own death... when I can’t even remember my own life?” 

What was he saying? “I don’t understand—”

“It’s missing—it’s all missing. I’m so confused. I don’t even know who you are— I just know— I just remember… It was me— it was my fault.”

“Shh shh it’s okay.” She held him, biting her lip and holding back the pressure building in her own eyes, burning cheeks relieved when the wind hit the tears. “It’s okay. Tell me why you think it’s your fault.” 

He didn’t respond, eyes closed and still sobbing. She took a moment to do a full check up on him, feeling his body, checking his wound for signs of infection. Fever? Blue around his fingernails? Nothing stood out to her—no symptom presented itself with a visual clue. So much could go wrong with the human body, but this? 

“...it’s my fault because I did it.” 


End file.
